


L is For the Love That We Couldn't See

by dushku



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Crushes, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, jealous joseph chandler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dushku/pseuds/dushku
Summary: It's no secret that Kent's had a thing for Chandler since he arrived in Whitechapel years ago, swanning in with his fancy suits and fast-track ideals. Pining has just become part of Kent's routine, if Mansell's and Riley's - hell, even Miles’ - teasing is anything to go by.The break of normality occurs when Kent finds himself protecting a charming man whose life is in danger, and he begins to reflect on his relationship with Chandler.No one was prepared for the D.I. to do the same. Overwhelmed with jealousy, Chandler begins to realise how he feels, and hurries to solve the case as quickly as possible.
Relationships: Joseph Chandler/Emerson Kent
Comments: 57
Kudos: 69





	1. pecunia

**Author's Note:**

> welp here we go again. i fell down the rabbit hole of the whitechapel fandom. the team deserved a season 5 !! please ignore the fact i have started writing this, and have not attempted to revive my flash fanfiction from april last year. maybe i will, but for now, please enjoy this kendler (?) fic.
> 
> title comes from keisha shade's "pablo", and i based the plot of this fic on s5 e21 of castle - "the squab and the quail"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerson Kent and Joseph Chandler meet the one and only, Angel Cardillo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp here we go again. i fell down the rabbit hole of the whitechapel fandom. the team deserved a season 5 !! please ignore the fact i have started writing this, and have not attempted to revive my flash fanfiction from april last year. maybe i will, but for now, please enjoy this kendler (?) fic.
> 
> title comes from keisha shade's "pablo", and i based the plot of this fic on s5 e21 of castle - "the squab and the quail"

‘Harvey Simmons.’ Chandler’s voice was as grave as it had been since Morgan Lamb had died. He stared at the team with similar flat emotion. Kent assumed the others were returning Chandler’s impassive expression, but Kent found his eyes focussed on the photo pinned to the whiteboard. The photograph had been stuck in the incident room for just over a day, but even so, Kent knew he had the unruly face, thick eyebrows, and crooked smile seared into his brain.

It was no surprise that the Detective Inspector sounded exhausted. In the twenty-seven hours that Harvey Simmons’ photograph had been on the board, his body down in the morgue with Dr Llewellyn, the team had yet to find any reason for his untimely death. No fights, no threats, an all-round nice guy; it seemed that Harvey Simmons had no enemies that would want to poison his food while he was at a local high-end Whitechapel restaurant with friends.

 _Laura McChesney, a lawyer with a prestigious firm in the centre of London; Aria Simmons, company board director, and the victim’s wife; and Angel Cardillo, an entrepreneur and possible friend-slash-business partner of Harvey Simmons_ , Kent listed off silently. His hands fidgeted with the small black notebook clutched between them.

‘Have we—’ Chandler paused to scrub at his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘—Have we got anything? At all?’ He could feel his stomach drop as he looked at his team, Mansell shuffling in his seat, Riley’s eyes scanning the report in front of her. His gaze lingered on Kent, but the young D.C. avoided it. Even Miles was quiet. Chandler let out a sigh.

‘Okay. Mansell, tell me again what we know about Simmons.’

‘He was a CEO,’ Mansell began. ‘Worked alongside many of Cardillo’s businesses in and around central London in the creation of clean water pumps for developing countries and those in crisis. His colleagues haven’t a bad word to say about him.’

Chandler nodded before directing his attention to Meg. ‘Riley, did Dr Llewellyn say if she found out what poison was used?’ Riley sifted through the papers that were piled on the desk, the sound of crinkling paper the only sound in the silent incident room.

‘She said it was a chemical agent similar to the organic compound saxitoxin.’ Riley read from the report in front of her.

‘Saxitoxin?’ Miles repeated. ‘Where the hell would you find that?’

Riley clicked her mouse a few times, reawakening the computer screen, where the dim glow displayed the information that would answer Miles’ question. ‘It says here that it usually occurs in shellfish, but Dr Lewellyn said that the saxitoxin used to kill Harvey Simmons was made differently. That it had to have been created by someone with access to a sophisticated lab.’

‘Oh, that really narrows it down,’ Miles complained. ‘Simmons worked with how many scientists?’

‘Not to mention the amount of people who handled his food,’ commented Kent, who winced when he saw the disgust flitter across Chandler’s face. Even though Kent knew that the fleeting horror on the D.I.’s face was in large part at the thought of a cluster of people handling food before it reached the table, the young man couldn’t stop the swell of anxiety in his stomach that the disgust was in actual fact because of _him_. Every time Kent told himself that it wasn’t the case, that Chandler was just… Chandler, Morgan Lamb’s face would flash in Kent’s mind, and he would have to fight the bile that clawed up his throat.

‘So, one of the table runners or kitchen staff slipped our victim the poison?’ Mansell asked.

‘What I was _trying_ to say—’ Kent said, biting back anything else. Tensions between the two DCs had only just been smoothed out – and, not that Kent would ever admit it to Mansell, if Erica was happy, he was happy – and Kent did not want (nor had the energy to) pick a verbal fight, ‘—is that the kitchen door had been propped open throughout the entire evening rush. SOCO found a waistcoat similar to the restaurant’s uniform dumped in the bins out back.’

‘Meaning that anyone could have wandered in and out without being given a second glance,’ Riley clarified.

Chandler turned to Kent. The D.C. held his breath under the piercing gaze of his D.I. ‘Kent, was there anything of significance on the CCTV?’

Kent swallowed, shifting under the attention of the tall man before him. He resisted the urge to snap at Miles to “piss off” when Kent saw the Skip with a sympathetic look out of the corner of his eyes. Kent pushed that thought away – Skip meant well, and it was Chandler Kent was having issues with, not the man he looked up to with fatherly adoration.

‘There was one runner,’ Kent replied, ‘who never showed his face to the camera. Nothing too strange about that, but minutes before Simmons’ and his companions’ plates are taken out to them, the runner takes a small vial from his pocket and empties the contents on to the food.’

‘Were there any other camera angles?’

‘No, sorry. I asked about the one in the alley, but it’s been down for almost a week.’ Chandler nodded sullenly, and once again, the disappointment wasn’t directed towards Kent, but the younger man felt the pang of anxiety return. Miles took a step forward, attentions now on him.

‘We’ve managed to collect the contact information of everyone who was working that night. Maybe they’ll be able to tell us something.’

Quickly and quietly, Miles handed Riley, Mansell, and Kent sheets of paper that had the names and phone numbers of the restaurant staff who worked the night of the murder. Kent slid from his desk to move to the seat, dark eyes scanning the seven names. He pretended he didn’t see the way Chandler glided by his desk. It wasn’t that long ago that Kent would be tilting his head to the floor, hiding the blush or smile that crawled across his features in response to Chandler’s murmured “good work”. Now, Chandler disappeared into his office, not slowing at Kent’s desk, if anything the Detective Inspector’s pace quickened, and the office’s door would close with a _click_ that resounded in Kent’s head.

Letting out a sigh, Kent reached for the phone and pressed it to his ear, fingers flying over the numbers to dial the first name on his list.

»»————- ————-««

‘I’ve been working as a runner there—four years now, I think?’ A young man, in his mid-twenties, was sat in the chair opposite Kent, the DC’s desk a partition between them. A notebook sat parallel to the desk’s edges as Kent wrote, but as the thought crossed his mind, he shifted the notebook slightly and gestured with the hand that held his pen.

‘And where would you have been at eight-twenty that evening?’ asked Kent. The pen glided over the paper smoothly when Alec gave his answer.

‘Twenty past eight?’ Alec leaned back in his chair, thinking back to the evening, imagining the bustling kitchen and restaurant. ‘I would have been washing up. That’s all Chef ever seems to get me to do in the evenings, though occasionally I will deliver the food. Guess my nerves can’t handle him yelling at me.’ Kent smiled along with Alec.

‘Was there anyone out of the ordinary? Anything or one you didn’t think belonged?’

Alec opened his mouth, most likely to deny Kent’s questions, only he hesitated, and he leaned forward to tap at the edge of Kent’s desk. ‘Yeah, there was someone actually. It was when I was taking one of the platters out. Someone brushed past me, and I remember this because I was terrified they were gonna make me drop it, but I didn’t see their face properly. All I remember thinking is “why did Chef hire someone new during one of our busiest nights of the year?”’

Kent nodded, writing down Alec’s words. ‘Can you tell me what you remember, then?’

Alec shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Not a lot. He was short. Dark hair. Tan? I’m sorry, things are hectic in the kitchen.’

Kent nodded again and thanked Alec anyway.

»»————- ————-««

Five other names on the list garnered the same results. Angel Cardillo was last, and Kent had struggled to get a hold of him, conceding to leave a voicemail asking the entrepreneur to come by as soon as he could. Evening found Kent tired and worn out. Sighs slipped past his lips, the words of the statements before him blurring as sleep loomed on the horizon. He hadn’t realised that he was the only one left in the incident room, save for Chandler shut away in his office, until the older man actually opened the door, stopping short in surprise at the sight of the D.C. falling asleep at his desk.

‘What are you still doing here?’ Chandler felt escape his throat before his brain had caught up. His tone sounded harsh, but there was no taking it back now.

Kent visibly jumped, removing his face from his hands. Dark eyes were wide as they locked on to the Detective Inspector stood stock-still before him. Emerson Kent babbled for a response, gesturing at the statements in front of him.

‘I was just—the statements, you see, sir. I…’ Kent trailed off with a shrug. ‘I was about to get a coffee. Do you want a tea, sir?’

‘No, thank you,’ Chandler said a little too quickly. He didn’t miss the way Kent’s face fell before it was quickly masked by the young man pressing his lips together and giving a curt nod. Silence befell the men, by no means comfortable, the seconds ticking by echoed by the clock.

‘Sir, I…’

‘Yes?’

‘I just wanted to say… I’m—I’m sorry. About Morgan.’

Chandler tensed.

‘I don’t want to talk about her. Least of all with _you_.’ More venom couldn’t have been injected to the last of his sentence if he tried, but with the grief in his heart and the anger in his mind, Chandler was blind to Kent’s own turmoil, the glistening tear that slid down his cheek going unnoticed in favour of the murder board at the end of the room.

‘Yes, sir.’ With how quiet Kent whispered the usually upbeat words, he realised there had been no point in speaking them at all. They wouldn’t have been heard. The tensions that engulfed the room lay thick and unmoving, much like the two detectives who remained attached to their respective places. Moments or minutes passed, one could hardly tell, in agonising strain, until the opening of the incident room door drew the two men’s attention to the figure silhouetted in the dim light. Cliché-esque tall, dark, and handsome stood stoically with sharp features and an even sharper suit. Kent would not deny that this man’s features placed him under Chandler in terms of attractiveness. The man’s face gave nothing away, but something akin to pain shone in his light eyes. The click of the heel of his dress shoes was in time to the clock as he moved forward to meet the detectives.

‘Yes?’ Chandler asked, eyebrows furrowed as the other man – who was older than Kent, but younger than himself – extended a hand to greet the Detective Inspector.

‘Angel Cardillo,’ The man responded with a sultry voice. Kent, who had been frantically swiping at the tears in his eyes with the ends of his sleeves, looked up quickly. ‘A Detective Constable… Kent, I believe, left me a voicemail to come down to talk as soon as I could.’

‘Thank you for coming, Mr Cardillo.’ Kent hopped out of his seat to shake the entrepreneur’s hand. It would be a lie to say that Kent did not find the man before him _very_ attractive. He flushed with delighted embarrassment when Angel flashed a dazzling, confident smile in greeting. The young D.C. missed the way Chandler’s eyebrows knitted together once more, his hands flexing at his sides.

‘I must remind you that this is a murder inquiry, Mr Cardillo,’ Joe said, voice clipped. He narrowed his eyes as Angel’s hand finally slipped from Kent’s. ‘The fact that it’s been a struggle to contact you—’

‘Yes, yes, I apologise for that,’ Angel cut in. ‘Harvey’s parents are in Europe, you see, celebrating their wedding anniversary, and I wanted to arrange travel home for them. One less thing for them to worry about.’

Chandler opened his mouth to respond, but Kent beat him to it. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Cardillo.’

‘Please, call me Angel. Mr Cardillo is the businessman.’

Kent smiled again. Chandler found himself fighting back a huff and an eye-roll. ‘Take a seat, Mr Cardillo.’ Kent gestured to the chair Alec had sat in hours prior. ‘I was just about to grab a coffee. Would you like one?’

‘Ah, thank you… I assume you are Detective Constable Kent?’

‘Or Emerson,’ Kent responded, not knowing where the sudden confidence had come from. He blatantly ignored the reprimand on Chandler’s face. ‘I’ll be back to ask you a couple of questions.’ Angel and Chandler watched the young man slip from the room. An uncomfortable silence befell the incident room for a second time that night.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name?’

‘D.I. Joseph Chandler.’

Angel hummed and diverted his focus from the D.I., remaining impassive until Kent returned with two mugs in hand, when he took one gratefully. Kent pulled his notebook back in front of him, and he turned to Angel. Chandler took it as his cue to leave, and he returned to his office, leaving his door ajar to hear the low conversation.

‘How well did you know Mr Simmons?’ Kent began.

‘Not very, I’ll admit. We’ve worked together for years, that’s true, but I was not one to hang around with him outside of work hours. Now, I almost wish I had.’

‘I get that,’ Kent replied. Chandler ignored the way his stomach tightened at the insinuation. He instead reached for his Tiger Balm. ‘So, you wouldn’t have any idea who would want him dead?’

‘Absolutely none, I’m afraid,’ Angel responded, looking away from the Detective Constable in front of him. Grey eyes scanned Kent’s carefully penned words on the whiteboard and came to rest upon the face of the victim. His partner.

‘We will find whoever did this, Mr Cardillo.’ Kent’s voice was warm, comforting, as was his smile. There was no point in pretending with paperwork, Chandler thought, as his heart swelled at the sight through his office glass. Kent didn’t smile as much as he once did, and that thought had Chandler’s mind cast back to when he had shouted at the poor man over Morgan Lamb. _That_ thought had him reaching for his Tiger Balm once more.

Angel Cardillo was silent for a few moments before he returned his sights to Kent with an expression the D.C. couldn’t place. The entrepreneur sounded at ease as he spoke.

‘Yes, I know you will.’

Kent bit his lip at Angel’s words and ducked his head to his notes with an awkward cough that hid a grin that only Chandler had elicited beforehand. Twiddling the pen between his fingers, Kent asked his next question.

‘Was it Mr Simmons who made the reservation?’

‘Uh, no,’ Angel seemed thrown by the question, ‘I think it was his wife… Yes, Aria would have made the reservations because it was her office who contacted me with the details. I don’t know who else would know about them—It was just us four.’

Minutes passed as Kent and Angel went back and forth with questions and answers. With a final nod, Kent finished his notes and began to gather the papers and files together. Angel rose to meet Kent. ‘Thank you, Mr Cardillo. We’ll be in contact again, I’m sure.’

‘I’ll make sure to keep my phone available in case you call, Detective Constable Kent.’

Chandler wanted to scoff but instead narrowed his eyes as Kent let a small laugh slip from his lips before he remembered himself and bit his lip to quell the sound. Kent watched the suited man walk through the main incident room’s doors before reaching to his lamp to flick it off. He shuffled about the office; the wastebasket was tucked under his arm. Kent still cleaned the office, still stayed late like the D.I., but it wasn’t the same as before. The D.C. was sure it never would be.

With the final plastic bottle placed in the bin, Kent grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, casting a glance to Chandler’s office, surprised to see the older man watching. Kent waved goodbye but was met with Chandler’s head suddenly turning down to the desk.

Rolling his eyes, Kent wandered towards the car park, fingers clenched around his Vespa’s keys, thoughts not on one Joseph Chandler for the first time in a long time. Angel Cardillo’s grey eyes, distinguished face and dark stubble were at the forefront of the man’s mind, and while there was the nagging of hypocrisy morphed with Morgan Lamb’s face in the background, Emerson Kent found that he didn’t care.


	2. habeturne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real dead man is still walking, but it doesn't take the team long to realise it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oOf I'm so happy with the response for this! honestly, i only started writing it for the fun for myself - write the stories you want to read, right? - so i'm so grateful to those of you who've read it, left a comment or kudos behind. thank you so much!

‘I guess he was lucky,’ Dr Llewellyn commented as she flittered about the morgue, the sound of her apron crinkling in the silence. Chandler and Miles watched carefully as Dr Llewellyn returned her tools to their respective places.

‘What makes you say that?’ Miles asked. ‘Not the way I want to go, anyway.’

‘Mr Simmons had untreated DVT,’ Dr Llewellyn said, turning to face the two detectives. ‘If the poison hadn’t killed him, that most certainly would have.’

‘Anything of forensic significance?’ Chandler questioned. A bottle of hand sanitizer sat heavy in his pocket, and he resisted the urge to reach for it as Dr Llewellyn positioned the camera over Harvey Simmons’ stomach contents. It made his own churn.

‘Not much,’ Dr Llewellyn replied. ‘Nothing useful. The poison was fast-acting—stomach contents show undigested mushrooms. He managed to eat a few before he succumbed to the saxitoxin.’ Chandler squinted his eyes and tilted his head to the side slightly as he regarded the image on the screen. He could see it quite clearly now.

‘Yum,’ Miles muttered. ‘Thanks, Caroline.’

‘No problem.’

The Detective Inspector and Detective Sergeant walked the almost empty hallways back to the incident room, exchanging possibilities and suspects. Well, Chandler was; Miles thought it best to complain about _everything_ to do with the restaurant – apparently, Harvey Simmons’ crime scene wasn’t the first time he had set foot in “Treves”.

‘I took Judy there for our tenth wedding anniversary,’ Miles said. Chandler looked mildly impressed.

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah. It was an absolute nightmare. Expensive as hell, and Judy ended up with food poisoning.’

Chandler felt his nose wrinkle subconsciously. Miles didn’t notice and instead continued his bashing of Treves. ‘The servers were just as bad. Asked us if we wanted to take the food home in carry-away containers. Hopefully this whole death fiasco slights the buggers.’

Miles made mediocre conversation until the pair arrived back to their team. The incident room bustled, and the flow of conversations bombarded the two men. Riley and Kent were at the former’s desk, the latter stood with a mug of coffee in his hand, while Mansell was doing his best to get Buchan to shut up. The four ceased upon noticing the glass doors opening, and Mansell shot out of his seat to gain the D.I.’s attention.

‘Boss!’ He all but yelled. ‘We may have a lead!’

Excitement buzzed somewhere in Chandler, and his pace was quick as he made a move to retrieve the file in Mansell’s outstretched hand. He pulled the beige card open and flicked through the minimal sheets of paper stored inside.

‘It seems that Mr Simmons wasn’t the all-around saint-iest saint,’ Mansell began to explain. He flipped off Kent subtly when the younger DC’s face scrunched up in mock-disgust at Mansell’s choice of description. ‘Someone from his company came forward with the bank statements and other documents – they’re usually hidden from the public – but it shows that Harvey Simmons made his money in taking over smaller businesses. Just this month, he’d shut down a warehouse out in Hackney, selling its land off to whichever rich businessman wanted it. Two hundred people lost their jobs,’ Mansell finished, a smug grin on his face.

‘That’s two hundred suspects,’ Chandler replied morosely. ‘Have you started working your way through them?’

‘That’s been Kent and Riley’s job, Boss.’

Chandler’s eyes flickered to the two aforementioned, who responded with small smiles but nothing that revealed they’d uncovered anything as of yet. The D.I. nodded and directed his focus to the pictures and notes lining the whiteboard. His head turned over his shoulder minutely as Chandler directed his next question to the historian in the room.

‘Have you found a case that resembles our one, Ed?’

‘You forget that poisonings have been a common cause of death throughout history, Joe. I’m still wading through the eighteenth century.’

Miles did not attempt to hide his groan. He shuffled to his desk. ‘Should have just used dodgy mushrooms. That would have done the restaurant in, and we wouldn't have been involved.’

‘Who even _serves_ squab and mushrooms, let alone orders it?’ Clearly Miles was not finished with his grilling of the restaurant. ‘What’s wrong with just a burger and a pint?’ Riley, Mansell, and Kent all gave a laugh a Miles’ expense, but it was Chandler who saw the curious expression masking Buchan’s face.

‘Ed?’ He asked. ‘What is it?’

‘Did you say, “squab and mushrooms”?’ Buchan ignored Chandler in favour of Miles, who had collapsed into his desk chair. He stared at the historian blankly.

‘You develop hearing problems down in that cave of yours?’ Miles snarked. ‘Yeah, squab and mushrooms for those fancy high and mighty people. Caroline said that Harvey Simmons died so quickly that the mushrooms in his stomach didn’t have time to digest.’

‘I’m no official detective.’ Buchan’s usual dramatic flair was not missed. ‘But I know that’s out of the ordinary.’

‘Keep up those observations and we just might have to promote you.’ Was Miles’ reply as he reached for his mug. Buchan sighed and approached the older man to continue his tale with diligence.

‘No, no, D.S. Miles, you’re quite missing the point. You see, one of my very good friends, a Richard Tomlin—’ No indication was given to Buchan that anyone in the room knew the man he spoke of. ‘—He’s a successful Ripper writer, and he managed to get himself and me a table at this Treves; it is a rather lovely establishment, and very hard to get in to…’

‘Ed…’ Chandler pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Where is this going?’

‘Ah yes, I am getting there. While we were there, I ordered this delicious lobster dish—’ Miles groaned as flashbacks to a week of food poisoning was presented to him. ‘—while Richard ordered a quail and mushrooms.’ Buchan looked around expectantly, but the four detectives in front of him exchanged confused, somewhat judgemental, glances.

‘And you call yourself detectives,’ Buchan tutted. ‘Treves’ mushrooms are only served with the quail, not the squab.’

Kent’s eyebrows furrowed, and he placed his mug on the nearest desk to him so that he could retrieve his notepad and, subsequently, the notes from his interview with Alec.

‘But one of Treves’ runners – one Alec Whitfield – said that it was Simmons who ordered the squab. He even gave me the ticket.’ Kent brandished the crumpled piece of paper that he pulled from the back of his notepad.

‘If mushrooms actually go with the quail,’ Riley said slowly, ‘then that means that Simmons ended up with the wrong order.’

‘So that means Simmons wasn’t the intended target,’ Chandler finished. ‘Kent, does the ticket say who was meant to receive the quail dish?’

Kent wanted to scoff and reply with ‘What kind of restaurant takes down people’s names?’ but the thick black ink of the chicken scrawl caused Kent to squint in order to decipher the cluster of letters. Eventually, the legible letters allowed the D.C. to mentally fill in the blanks.

‘Angel Cardillo.’

»»————- ————-««

‘Ah, Detective Constable Kent.’ Silvery tones filled Kent’s ears as the young man walked to the reception of Whitechapel’s police station, where the conventionally attractive entrepreneur stood. His smile was wide at the sight of the dark-haired detective approaching him, but it dropped minutely at Kent’s worried expression. ‘I take it this isn’t going to be good news?’

‘It’s not, I’m afraid.’ Kent gestured to a couple of chairs that were empty. Angel looked concerned, and gently lowered himself into the seat, while Kent’s fingers fidgeted like they had the time he’d told Chandler about where to buy Spanish Fly. He flushed at the memory and swallowed to calm his breathing.

‘You were the one who ordered the quail at Treves, is that correct?’ Kent forced himself to meet Angel’s eyes without blushing under the intensity. An eyebrow was cocked as Angel huffed a confused laugh, eyes scanning Kent’s face.

‘Uh, yes?’

‘We have reason to believe that you were actually served the squab and not the quail.’

‘I’m disappointed, D.C. Kent.’ Angel’s words confused Kent; he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as he contemplated the older man’s words. ‘When you called, I was pleasantly surprised. Now you’re telling me that it all was because a restaurant gave me the wrong order? Over the phone you made it sound so much worse.’

‘Well, that’s because _it_ _is_ , Mr Cardillo.’ Kent couldn’t remember the last time he bumbled through a sentence because of the person in front of him. _Actually…_ Kent’s mind wandered to the incident room.

‘Angel, please.’

‘Right, uh—Angel—’ Kent coughed. ‘It was Mr Simmons who received the _poisoned_ quail, when in reality it was you the plate was meant for. You were just lucky—oh God, not lucky, your friend is dead, I’m so sorry—I just meant that you didn’t eat…’

As Kent trailed off, he registered the moment understanding flashed in Angel’s grey eyes, and the man leaned forward to pat Kent’s knee to quell both the Detective Constable's and his own anxieties.

‘You mean to say that the poison that killed Harvey was intended for me?’

‘Yes.’

At the confirmation, Angel’s bravado seemed to slip away. He looked forlorn. What were once bright grey eyes turned stormy, and a calloused tan hand raised to cover his mouth in shock. His body angled away from Kent, the hand on his knee sliding off. Kent knew it wasn’t the time, nor did he have the right to, but he missed the warmth that had pierced the charcoal trousers and settled on his skin.

‘This is all my fault,’ Angel murmured in a quiet mantra. The D.C. felt his heart break, and he hesitantly returned Angel’s comfort by placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

‘Mr Cardillo— Angel, this is by no means your fault,’ stated Kent firmly. ‘How could you have known?’

‘You don’t get to where I am without making a few enemies.’ Angel’s muttered words were harsh and self-deprecating. Kent bit his lip as he thought his next words carefully. The entrepreneur’s worries gave Kent more time to think. ‘What the hell am I supposed to tell Aria?’

‘I will be telling her,’ Kent replied. Angel’s smile was small but genuine.

‘Thank you, D.C. Kent, but I feel obligated to tell her myself.’ Angel let a shuddering breath reduce the weight piled on to his chest. ‘But if you would be so kind as to accompany me…’

Kent’s smile was soft, and he gently squeezed Angel’s shoulder. ‘I’d be happy to.’ Angel raised a hand to cover Kent’s own with it. They gazed at each other for prolonged moments until the ringing of the reception desk phone snapped the two men back to reality, and Kent couldn’t even try to hide the redness that creeped out from under his shirt collar and spread across his cheeks like wildfire.

‘I hate to do this now, but it would really help us narrow down who could have killed Mr Simmons: do you have any idea who may want you dead?’

‘No, no, I understand.’ Angel cleared his throat. ‘When one of my innovations succeed, it often comes at the expense of someone else’s failure. Many blame me for their lack of progression in this industry, or they want things from me that I just cannot give.’

‘Sounds like being the Angel Cardillo isn’t all it’s made out to be.’ A wry smile found its way on to Kent’s lips. Angel responded with a dry laugh and a quirk of an eyebrow:

‘ _The_ Angel Cardillo?’

Widening his eyes at the slip of the tongue, Kent removed his hand from Angel’s shoulder to scratch the back of his head. ‘I, um, looked you up after our first encounter.’

‘In that case, I must remind you that media portrayals aren’t always the most accurate. I’m sure your D.I. would understand.’ The way Kent’s body bristled did not go unnoticed by the older man. ‘I just meant the way your D.I.—’

‘Joseph Chandler is by far the best man and even better Detective Inspector I have ever met, and I’d appreciate not discussing the way the _stupid bloody press_ tarnish a good man’s name.’

‘Of course.’ Angel smirked knowingly. ‘I didn’t mean anything bad by it.’

A tight nod and pursed lips had the atmosphere pressing down on the two men with discomfort until Kent couldn’t stand it anymore.

‘So do you?’ Kent broke the quiet minutes later. ‘Have any enemies that have threatened you recently, I mean.’

‘I’m sure I have, but unless my people deem it serious enough, they usually don’t tell me. I can have my assistant send over a file of everything I’ve received.’

‘That would be most helpful, Angel.’

Angel nodded, and it seemed that the conversation had naturally ended. Kent rose from his seat, Angel mirroring him. A goodbye had formed on Kent’s tongue, along with a promise to be in contact again soon, when the confliction on Angel’s face caused Kent to pause.

‘Uh, D.C. Kent—’

‘Emerson.’ Kent blurted before he could stop himself, but the thankful grin on Angel’s face made Kent’s heart stutter and embarrassment dissipate.

‘Emerson. Whoever did this is still out there. They failed, and I don’t think it is out of the realm of possibilities that they might try again.’

Kent tucked his hands into his pockets, and he released a breath.

‘Uh, no. No, you’re most likely right. I’m sure we can get some uniforms assigned to you, but at the moment I think it’d be best if you looked into hiring some sort of private security.’

»»————- ————-««

Upon his return to the incident room, the last thing Kent expected was the loud, school-boy “Wahey!” from Mansell or the suggestive smile that laced Riley’s bright face. He gave them a curious, although suspicious, look as he moved to his desk to await the arrival of the collection of threats against Cardillo.

‘So?’ Riley asked, wheeling her chair next to Kent’s. Mansell took residence in the space on the edge of the desk.

‘So what?’ Kent retorted, hunched over the papers that covered his desk. He jumped when Mansell’s hand slammed on top of them to prevent Kent from continuing. Regarding the two detectives in front of him with a scrupulous squint, Kent leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

‘Don’t think we didn’t see you and _Angel Cardillo_ down in reception!’ Riley squealed. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t find him the least bit attractive? He’s clearly got some interest in you.’

‘Erica says you should go for it,’ Mansell contributed, wiggling his eyebrows, and Kent felt mortification rise.

‘ _You told Erica_?’

‘There is something there, then!’

The two older D.C.s laughed like they had won, only to fall silent as Chandler and Miles exited the D.I.’s office.

‘What’s all this about?’ Miles demanded. Despite his best attempts, Kent had no chance to shut the man or woman up before they sent their cheeky grins to the D.S.

‘Angel’s got a thing for Kent here.’

‘It’s absolutely nothing!’ Kent all but shouted under the stare of his boss. Riley and Mansell made noises of protest, and even Miles looked impressed. The young D.C. flushed immediately, and he tilted his head away from the pleased stares.

‘I don’t think this is appropriate…’ Chandler’s words were lost to all but Kent, and although there was a flash of anger in him at the hypocrisy of the statement, Kent found himself trying to prove himself to the man once more.

‘As I said, sir, it’s absolutely nothing.’


	3. exploratio sui

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent's new task leaves him reeling, while the team back at Whitechapel Police Station begin to work their way through suspects.

_**[sorry im sticking this here but idk how many of you read the notes. does anybody have or have a link to a gif of chandler in his police jacket?? the one with the blue and white checks across the chest?? it could just be RPJ in another show of his i watched but i have been on the hunt for it forever and im VERY annoyed i cannot find it for the life of me. last i saw it was on tumblr. to anyone who hands it over, i owe you my LIFE]** _

‘Mr Cardillo _what_?’

Kent could not believe his ears. He had to have misheard. There was no way that what Miles had said was true. Mansell and Riley looked as shocked as Kent felt, and Miles scoffed and rolled his eyes.

‘You been spending time down with Buchan, lad?’ He looked at Kent pointedly. ‘Angel Cardillo wants you to act as his personal bodyguard during the course of our investigation.’ Kent blinked, while Mansell let out a howl of laughter, immediately reaching for his phone. _No hiding it from Erica, then._

‘Why would he ask for Kent?’ Chandler asked and the young man tried not to feel hurt by the undertone of the D.I.’s statement. What was so wrong with another man wanting Kent? Albeit it wasn’t in the same way that Kent still wanted Chandler, and Kent was quite upset that Angel was trying to haul him off the case. Operative word being _quite_.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter what he wants, does it?’ Kent responded finally, the anger he felt dissipating the moment Chandler _finally_ met his eyes. ‘I’m a Detective Constable, not some rich man’s escort.’

‘Not for long, eh, mate?’ Mansell’s jibe was followed by Miles’ and Riley’s shrieks of laughter. Kent did his best to glare, but he only seemed to set off the three detectives again. He couldn’t decipher the look that graced the D.I.’s face.

‘You wish,' Kent replied. ‘Did you call him back, Skip? Tell him that it can’t happen?’

Miles was quiet for a few moments, and Kent felt his stomach drop. His voice took on a pleading tone.

'Skip!’

'I was going to, Kent, when Chandler and I received a lovely email from Commander Anderson regarding the situation,' Miles explained while Kent narrowed his eyes and spared a glance to the Detective Inspector with suspicion. _He knew?_ Kent thought to himself. _Why didn’t he tell me?_ There was no time to dwell on the thought as Miles continued and Kent tuned back in. ‘Turns out that Mr Cardillo's money is worth quite a lot to our higher-ups, and at the risk of potentially losing that standing, they were happy to shift your duties to protection detail until this murderer is caught.’

Throwing his arms in the air, Kent collapsed against his desk in defeat before he took on the role of petulant child, even more so when Riley decided to chip in her two-pence.

'What's the big deal?’ She practically swooned. ‘Spending 24/7 with a man like that? Oh, _Emerson_ , if I wasn’t married...’

‘Stop, stop, stop.’ Kent waved his arms, begging for Riley to cease and desist. 'I hear that subtext! 24/7? I will be having my alone time, thank you very much.’’

'Don't you get that a lot nowadays anyway?’ Kent was tempted to flip her off as she giggled. 'So, you don’t think he’s attractive?’ Riley feigned innocuous intentions, so Kent just returned them with a cheeky grin and nonchalant shrugs of the shoulders.

‘Well, that’s neither here nor there, now isn’t it, Riley?’

“Ooh”s rippled through the incident room, and Chandler found himself rippling with an unfamiliar _something_ , he couldn’t identify what, but it had his fingers twitching for the hexagonal pot that he had left upon his desk. Before he could cut in, Kent was speaking once more:

‘When does he want me?’ The young man immediately flushed as he registered what he had said, more so at the sight of Mansell's innuendo-laden expression. In retaliation, Kent reached for the closest thing – which happened to be a whiteboard pen – and he lobbed it at the older D.C.’s head.

‘At least we know you’re ready for a fight!’ Mansell cackled from underneath the desk, where he had hidden himself from Kent’s onslaught.

'Like Kent’s gonna save this man's life with the Boss' whiteboard pens,' Miles responded, throwing his own pen at Mansell’s head. It hit the crown and rolled off somewhere behind him.

As Mansell bent down to pick up the pen, he said 'People have been saved in weirder ways!’ He gestured with the pen, shaking it at the D.S. 'What about that man who fought off his home invader with just a spatula?’

'That was a film you watched with Erica on your fifth date.’ Kent deadpanned. Mansell’s confusion led Kent to clarify. ‘She texted me her complaints the whole way through it. It’s the main reason why you’re banned from film-choosing every other time.’

'There's other reasons?’

‘Wouldn’t you love to know?’ The offense on Mansell’s face was enough to send the remaining D.C.s into a fit of laughter once more. It was then that Chandler seemed to reach a breaking point:

‘Need I remind you all that this is a murder investigation? Get back to work!’ He stormed into his office, the crack of the door slamming behind him all too loud in the shocked silence that enveloped the incident room.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Mansell muttered. Riley and Miles shrugged while Kent observed the Detective Inspector through the glass for a collection of moments, watching as the older man went through his routine of straightening the items on his desk and then moving his fingers to the pot of Tiger Balm. He rubbed it into his temples, circular motions moving forward. Kent could make out that his lips were moving, probably comforting himself with mumbles that no-one understood.

Moving across the space to stand at Kent’s side, Miles tapped the young man on the shoulder, making him jump slightly and whirl around to face the sergeant with an expectant look, ignoring the way the knowing one on Miles’ face made him feel small and inconsequential. Tugging on the D.C.’s elbow, Miles guided Kent from the incident room, and soon the two of them were walking down the corridors towards the exit, then the car park.

‘Don’t worry about ‘im, lad,’ Miles said, ‘this case is just as stressful as can be. Now we’re a man down because instead of interviewing a suspect, you’re chatting him up.’ Miles laughed at the affronted look on Kent’s face. ‘Joking, Kent! God, you really think his Nibbs is annoyed at you over this?’

‘Maybe,’ Kent admitted quietly. ‘I don’t think he’s forgiven me over what happened with Morgan Lamb.’

‘Give him some time,’ Miles said. ‘You’ll have plenty of space to think when you’re off spending your time with someone who’s got Riley swooning.’ Raising his arm, Miles waved to a black SUV that was parked at the end of the car park, hidden from the CCTV cameras and the general hustle and bustle of the police station. Kent was quick to catch on.

‘Wait. He’s here? _Now_?’

‘What’s wrong? Wanted some time to freshen up before you saw your man again?’ Miles cackled at Kent’s expense and guided the two of them towards the SUV with blacked-out windows. When the two detectives were mere feet from the vehicle, the left-hand side back door swung open, and out clambered Angel Cardillo. He was dressed in a smart suit, the colours reminding Kent of the suits Chandler usually wore, but Kent shook the thought from his mind before he could dwell on it.

‘Emerson.’ Angel said by way of greeting. The man in question bit his tongue and fought back the urge to elbow Miles in the ribs when he looked at Kent with a pointed look. With a deep breath, Kent steadied his breathing and responded.

‘Mr Cardillo,’ Kent said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’

‘You were the one who made the suggestion,’ Angel smiled, and Kent caught himself before he rolled his eyes. There was no point in trying to argue the situation. Turning to Miles, Kent said his goodbyes and slid into the back of the SUV, Angel holding the door before he followed suit. The SUV lurched into gear and Kent noticed the driver in the front seat.

‘As I recall, Mr Cardillo,’ Kent said, tilting his head towards the entrepreneur but keeping his eyes on the road (and somewhat the driver – he’d have to ask for a background check on the man when they all arrived wherever they were headed). ‘I told you to look into private security, and we would look into uniformed officers for you.’

‘I know,’ Angel said, and divulged no more.

»»————- ————-««

The quiet wasn’t as comforting as it used to be, Chandler thought. He had completed his routine three times and still felt the discomfort weighing down on him. The Detective Inspector felt his eyes blur, having read the same files for the better part of two hours. With a sigh escaping his lips, Chandler pushed himself away from the desk and manoeuvred himself out into the main incident room, questions already formed in his throat. They got stuck when he found himself stood at Kent’s desk, fully expecting to see the young D.C. hard at work behind his computer screen, only for the empty chair to prompt the reminder that Kent was out protecting Angel Cardillo.

Attempting to play it off, Chandler nonchalantly turned to his team and asked, ‘How far have we got with tracking down potential suspects from that list Cardillo had sent over?’

The two D.C.s remained silent; Riley tapped a pencil against her right hand while Mansell peered into his mug.

‘Oh, come on. One of you must have something.’

‘None of them check out, sir,’ Riley spoke quietly. ‘None of them seem to have any connection to chemistry or bioscience in any way, never mind being any where near the restaurant at the time of Mr Simmons;’ death.’

‘And we’re still waiting on the reports and data from Cardillo’s company,’ contributed Mansell. ‘His assistant is gathering it all, but there’s quite a lot since Cardillo and Simmons had been developing their companies alongside each other for donkey’s years.’

‘Hasn’t Cardillo got any skeletons in his giant cupboards? Surely if he had been a business partner to Mr Simmons, he would have gained his money in a similar way to the dead man. Couldn’t there be a business out there he shut down with a lot of angry employees?’ Miles asked, gesturing between the photos that were pinned to the whiteboards’ middles.

‘Not that I’ve found so far, Boss. But I’m still waiting on those reports like I said, but some uniforms found a homeless man who was in the alley the night of the murder. I was going to talk to him, see if there was anything he might be able to reveal, but he’s still pretty intoxicated.’

‘Right.’ Chandler took a breath to collect his thoughts. ‘Riley, I want you to bring in those names that Cardillo’s assistant gave you anyway, talk to them, see if they shed some light on anything of significance.’ He turned to Mansell. ‘Call the assistant, ask her to speed up the process if at all possible, remind her that we are trying to solve her employer’s partner’s murder.’ The next words were out of his mouth before he realised. ‘Kent, look into—’

‘Kent’s not here,’ Miles said with a smirk. ‘Off with Rich Boy while we do all the hard labour. Lazy sod.’ He joked. None of the detectives noticed the way Chandler’s breath hitched and for that he was grateful.

»»————- ————-««

‘I’m just saying—’ Kent jogged slightly to catch up with Angel’s long strides. ‘—that I would be more effective if I was back with my team, Mr Cardillo. Trying to solve who was behind your partner’s murder and who is out to kill you.’

They were currently entering the building which housed Angel Cardillo’s company: it was huge, with large glass walls and a reception that had seemed to have been inspired by the jungle with water fountains and large-leaf green plants potted around. Multiple desks were manned by men and women who had their ears plastered to phones or eyes glued to computer screens. Hands flurried across paper as notes were taken down.

Angel paused in where he was signing a document that had been handed his way, glanced at Kent over his shoulder as he returned the pen and clipboard to the woman who had brought it to him, and gave him a look of confusion, alongside something else Kent wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

‘I’m quite certain that you could do both tasks, Emerson.’ The entrepreneur had long since stopped trying to get the Detective Constable to use his first name. It was evident it wouldn’t stick. ‘You can protect me while you and your team hunt for this murderer.’

‘Are you sure you’re willing to stake your life on this? You don’t know me,’ Kent pointed out, willing the man to see reason. The majority of him longed to return to the station where his once-colleagues, now turned friends resided, to work his way through the case like he would any other. But then, there was another part of him, a part that Kent never thought he would live to the day to see; he wanted space from Chandler, time away from the man who plagued his thoughts, because every time he looked at the man, he would the anger in his eyes from the Morgan Lamb case, anger directed at _him,_ for doing what? _His job?_ And that part of Kent was the part that wanted nothing more to do with the Detective Inspector all the while wishing to confess _everything_ , wanted to transfer out of Whitechapel, leave everything behind even though he knew – he _knew_ – it would break his own heart. That part? That part scared Kent.

Angel regarded Kent as he responded with, ‘I’ve seen enough. If you didn’t know before, I am somewhat close with your superiors and they allowed me to review your case files. I’ve seen your work from beginning to end, starting from the Ripper murders all the way to the last case you and your team solved. You went through so much and you’ve still managed to come out as you are now.’ Kent liked to think that was a compliment. ‘If there was anyone I’d like to be protecting my life, I would like it to be you. You’re quite remarkable.’ Kent also liked to think he did a good job of the hiding the warmth that was glowing under his skin. ‘Don’t you know that?’

Anything that Kent would have said in response was interrupted by the arrival of a man in his mid-forties, although the receding hairline and frameless glasses would have moved anyone’s guess up into the late-fifties to early-sixties.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting, Mr Cardillo…’ His voice – while nervous – was plummy and taut. Kent shook his head and told the man that he wasn’t interrupting anything. The man smiled, relieved, and turned back to his employer.

‘We’ve put extra security in place, and we’re restricting the number of people coming in and out of the building,’ The man seemed to let out on a single breath. ‘Now, we also need to discuss C.A.R.D.’

‘Ah, Graham!’ Angel proclaimed like one might an old friend. ‘This here is Detective Constable Kent, the one who is going to be keeping me alive—’ Angel brandished his hand towards were the man stood at his side, before repeating the action with the arm closest to Graham. ‘—Emerson, this is Graham Martin, my lawyer.’

Extending his hand to shake Kent’s, Graham then clasped it with his free one and said: ‘If Mr Cardillo here is any trouble to you at all, I’m sure we have some board meetings lined up somewhere to stick him in.’

Kent shot the two men a playful smile. ‘Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.’

‘Now, Mr Cardillo, about C.A.R.D.’s…’ Kent zoned out, immediately bored by the inner workings of the company’s fundings and whatever a “Q3” was. He was broken from his reverie by the sharp beeps of his phone and, gesturing to it, his fingers slid along the answer button without him even looking at the caller ID.

‘D.C. Kent.’

‘ _Emerson, you little scoundrel!_ ’

‘Hello to you, too, Erica.’

‘Oh, who cares about that! You’re handing out with _Angel Cardillo_ and you didn’t think to let me know?’

‘You know what, it must have slipped my mind. Why do you even care? Don’t you have a loving partner in the form of a very questionable man that I just so happen to work with?’

‘Angel Cardillo has been voted one of the most interesting people in the world, alongside the photo shoots he’s done for Vogue. Of course I care that my baby brother is hanging out with a man like that! What I wouldn’t do to be in your position…’

‘Want me to tell Mansell that?’

‘Go ahead. I already have. Besides, Mansell said Angel took a liking to you.’

‘You’re believing the word of Mansell? Need I remind you of the spatula film?’

‘Need _I_ remind _you_ that you’ve been pining over a man who hasn’t so much as looked at you the way you want for the better half of four years?’

‘Sometimes I really hate you.’

‘Aw, I love you too. Look, I know you’re in love with your boss, but I’m serious, Em! Go for it! He might be the one! Can’t a sister just want to see her brother happy?’

‘I’ll see. After the case. Don’t want to do anything drastic only for Angel to be given saxitoxin the moment he agrees to do anything.’

After exchanging goodbyes and a few more hissed words, Emerson hung up and turned around to be greeted by Angel’s curious face.

_Oh, God, he’s close. How long has he been standing there? Oh my God, how much did he hear?!_

Before Kent could submit to the hyperventilation that was on the horizon, Angel broke the tensions in the air.

‘Saxitoxin?’ He raised an eyebrow. Kent nodded, explaining that it was the poison used to kill Harvey Simmons. ‘My company partnered with a local university lab in order to develop an antidote to that class of neurotoxins.’

Pulling out his notepad, Kent looked at Angel and asked ‘Have you had any issues with anyone at this lab? Anyone who might be holding a grudge against you?’

‘Sarah.’ The response was immediate, but it didn’t come from Angel. Graham was stood there, arms folded but one loose enough for him to gesticulate. Angel looked annoyed that Graham had spoken, probably about revealing the name of this mystery woman.

‘Who’s Sarah?’ Kent looked to Graham for him to continue.

Cutting Graham off with a sharp hand gesture, Angel then sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, something akin to weariness showing itself in his actions. ‘Her name’s Sarah Collins. She’s a talented researcher at the laboratories.’ Off of Kent’s look for more, Angel provided. ‘I… _We_ were at the lab late one night last month, and Sarah had a bottle of whiskey in her office. We got to drinking and… she confessed that she had some strong feelings for me, which I did not reciprocate. When I declined, she took it harshly.’

Kent’s blood thrummed in his ears, the pounding of his heart so loud in his ears that he was positive that Angel and Graham could hear it too; Sarah’s story resonated loudly with Kent – he had forgotten he wouldn’t be the only one with irrevocable feelings for someone they could not have, the agony and hurt that people would carry with them in their everyday lives the same way he did every time he would step through the glass doors to the incident room, eyes at once drawn to the office at the end of the often dim room. The young man was certain his hands were shaking too when suddenly his head was filled by Chandler’s voice.

_You don’t look professional._

Like he had been taught when he first joined the police, learning drill, parade, and how to march, Kent straightened his shoulders and finished his notes promptly.

‘He’s being nice about it, Detective Constable,’ Graham said, catching Kent’s attention once more. ‘She did more than take it harshly.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Sarah has keyed several of our company cars and slashed more tyres than a MOT station can carry.’ Kent’s eyes widened.

‘And you still work with her?’ The question was directed to Angel. Something warm was spread across his face as he answered.

‘Like I said, Sarah’s a talented researcher – no one can help how they feel, Emerson. It shouldn’t end a career.’ Kent felt his heart sink because he knew that Chandler would never be like Angel in that regard, no matter how much Kent hoped. If Kent ever were to confess, then something life-changing would be on the horizon.

»»————- ————-««

‘Sarah Collins is in the interview room now, Sir.’ Riley poked her head around Chandler’s office door. He had asked her to track down their new number one suspect the moment he had hung up the phone with Kent. It was strange, Chandler thought. He and Kent never really spoke on the phone, the young man always within reach where the case could be discussed without barriers.

‘Yes, uh, thank you, Riley,’ Chandler said finally, looking up from the files and notes meticulously placed upon his desk. ‘Is Miles ready to help conduct the interview?’

‘He should be in a minute.’ Riley went to leave but paused in the doorway momentarily. She turned back to her superior officer, only slightly worried by the response should receive. ‘Is everything all right, sir?’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m… I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for asking.’ Chandler smoothed down the lapels on his blazer and stood up, fingers quickly readjusting the shifted file before he tucked the chair in and followed the blonde D.C. out to where Miles was waiting.

‘It’d be a shame for Kent if this Sarah Collins was our killer,’ Miles said. Chandler looked taken aback, and Miles couldn’t help but guffaw at the expression that graced his features. ‘I’m just saying. It’s not every day you get to work along side a man as attractive as that Cardillo fellow.’

‘I’m sure Kent knows to do his job,’ Chandler said back, albeit quietly. ‘I doubt Mr Cardillo would be interested in a police officer Miles, especially with the kind of man he is.’

‘Oh? And what kind of man is he then, sir?’

Chandler was swiftly uncomfortable. ‘Well, you—you know. _That_ kind.’ Miles raised an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘He could have anyone in the world he wanted with his money. Don’t men like him usually go for women with a similar status to them? Is Kent even interested in him?’ Chandler didn’t like the look that shifted in Miles’ eyes.

‘Maybe you’re right. Kent’s a professional, and Cardillo’s just a marvellous man who could have anyone he wanted.’ Chandler certainly didn’t like the emphasis Miles placed to the end of his sentence. ‘I doubt Kent is going to be instantly wooed by the man’s charms.’

‘Would you let Judy hang out with Cardillo, Boss?’ Mansell’s cheeky interruption was met with Miles disgruntled noise and the two senior detectives beginning their exit, Miles shouting an “As if!” over his shoulder as they went.

Heavy and disagreeable, the tight knot that embedded itself under his stomach had Chandler feeling ill. He buried it as the interview room loomed before him, and the redheaded woman that awaited inside. Her face was long and spattered with freckles, the rest of her as immaculate as the perfect curls that cascaded down her left shoulder.

‘Sarah Collins.’ Miles’ voice was loud and clear. Chandler slid into his seat, Miles next to him, and he took the time to observe the woman in front of him.

‘I’ve been waiting here over an hour.’

‘Yeah, well, we apologise for that. We’ve been brushing up on our understandings on a few things before we asked you our questions. Like saxitoxin, for example. Have you heard of it?’

‘I work in a lab with it. Of course I know what it is.’ Sarah’s voice was bored and detached. She folded her arms, manicured nails tapping a rhythm against her opposite upper arm. ‘But I assume that’s not why you brought me down here.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Chandler joined in, leaning forward to meet the woman’s bright, grey eyes. ‘Are we right in believing that you had a personal falling out with Mr Cardillo?’

‘Nothing that I didn’t get over with time.’

‘Mm. The damaged cars and slashed tyres say otherwise,’ Chandler feigned nonchalance, sliding over pictures of what he described, followed by the picture of Harvey Simmons slumped over in his food. ‘And so does the dead man at Treves’ table.’

Sarah shot forward in shock, jaw slack and eyebrows drawn close. ‘Harvey Simmons is dead?’

‘But he’s not the one you wanted, is he, Sarah?’ Miles continued off of Chandler’s track. ‘You were trying to get back at Mr Cardillo, but the servers messed up and gave Mr Simmons here the fatal saxitoxin food. Can’t say it’s a meal I’d enjoy.’

Sarah’s eyes seemed to bulge out of her head, watering. They flicked between the two detectives before her, and suddenly her voice had more emotion in it than mere moments before: ‘Someone tried to kill Angel?’

Chandler and Miles nodded in unison. Sarah seemed to understand what they meant, and the words flowed from her mouth without any encouragement. ‘Me? You think… _this_ was me? No, I would never try to hurt Angel! Please, you have to believe me!’

‘Where were you the night of September 4th?’ Chandler asked, head tilted minutely. Sarah, still shaking, sniffed, pushing her hair out of her face as she collected her thoughts. ‘I was, um—I was at the cinema. Before Midnight. I paid with my card. You can check.’

The two detectives left the room afterwards, informing the researcher that they would be in touch shortly, and they exited the room to bump into Mansell who awaited outside, paper in hand. The three of them stood in a triangle while Mansell explained his findings.

‘One of the uniforms managed to get the homeless man – Ben Miller – sobered up enough for me to be able to ask him about what he saw in the alley. Apparently, he said the man who dumped the vest into the bins in the alley was dressed in Treves’ uniform.’

‘So, it wasn’t someone from the outside, then? Someone inside the restaurant was the one who poisoned Mr Simmons’ food?’ Chandler asked. Mansell nodded and handed over the file to the man.

‘Get this. I showed him pictures of the employees and look who he picked out.’


	4. mirum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chandler's revelations mean something grand for Kent, but could that all change with a phone call?
> 
> [I realise the timeline is a bit out of sorts in regards to the Morgan Lamb/Abrahamians case, but at this point in time, Kent still feels responsible for Morgan Lamb]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [THIS IS THE EDITED CHAPTER!]
> 
> im back (with the gif that i had been on the hunt for!) and its been a hectic time, huh? idk what more i can do, but with the little influence i have, i want to see if i can help, so here's a link to a BLM page that has ways to help:
> 
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/

Mansell slapped a photo on top of the manilla file still clutched in Chandler’s hands; the slightly-blurry image showed a young man with sandy-coloured hair, the top half of the red-velvet Treves uniform could be seen pressed just as neatly as the white shirt that lay under it.

‘Alec Whitfield,’ Mansell said, grinning when the dawning realisation could be seen on Chandler’s face. He looked down to the image again.

‘That’s the waiter that Kent interviewed,’ Chandler stated, closing the file as he stalked towards the incident room leaving the two detectives to trail behind him. ‘Kent said that Alec told him a man brushed past him in the kitchen the night of the murder. Said he was out of place.’

‘Looks like our boy tried to pin it on someone else, then,’ Miles concluded. Riley looked up from her desk at the sound of the sergeant’s voice. She smiled slightly at them all.

‘Alec Whitfield’s had no run-ins with the law before now,’ She said, ‘not even a speeding penalty. It’s strange. What makes a good, law-abiding citizen like that jump straight to murder?’

‘Why don’t we ask him?’

‘Riley or Skip, which one of you are gonna join me in picking up our delightful new suspect? I’d take Kent, but he’s busy chatting it up with our protectee!’ The D.C. cackled while Riley snorted. She rose from her chair and collected her jacket, stating that she would accompany Mansell in order to “keep him under control”. The two made their way to the address of Alec Whitfield. No one had noticed the way Chandler had blanched at Mansell’s words – no one except Miles, anyway – nor did anyone notice the way the Detective Inspector moved to hide away inside his office, the same way he had been since the beginning of the case – except for Miles, once again. The door had barely clicked into place and Chandler hadn’t even reached his seat when the door to the office opened again and Miles placed himself in front of the desk. Chandler spared him a glance as he lowered himself into his seat.

‘What is it, Miles?’

‘Not much. Just wanted to make sure you were okay,’ Miles said. Chandler narrowed his eyes as the Detective Sergeant took a seat across from him.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘It doesn’t take a room full of detectives to notice you’ve not adjusted to Kent’s absence,’ Miles began. ‘I know it’s a broken routine for you, but we’ve had many detectives come and go, and you’ve not once forgotten that they’re no longer here.’

‘Kent’s coming back,’ Chandler said quickly.

‘You miss him,’ Miles stated. The D.I. hoped that the shrug of his shoulders came across as unconcerned and collected.

‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Chandler countered. If the Inspector didn’t know any better, he would say that Miles wanted to throw his hands into the air out of frustration.

‘You don’t see us walking to his desk or asking him to complete some menial task only to remember he’s not here,’ Miles replied. ‘I think you wish he was working here, rather than along side Angel Carrillo.’

‘He said it himself, Miles, he’s a Detective Constable, not an… _escort._ ’ Chandler’s nose wrinkled at Kent’s choice of words. ‘He should be with us.’

‘Why are you so worried? Think Kent can’t do his job?’

‘You heard him and Riley. I’m just concerned he may be blurring the line between an associate and what possibly may be more than friend.’

‘And this is different to Morgan Lamb, _how_?’ Miles was biting back anger. Silence befell the two men for who knows how long. Miles’ attention was pulled back to the incident room when it looked like Chandler wouldn’t be saying anything any time soon.

‘Incident room’s a mess,’ Miles commented, even though he knew Chandler would be set on edge. ‘Probably’ll clean it before you leave, won’t you?’

‘Most likely.’ Chandler was surprised he could form coherent words.

‘How many times you done that lately?’

‘Uh—’ At first, Chandler was confused by Miles’ question. Why did it matter how many times he had cleaned the incident room? It needed to be done, Chandler’s brain wouldn’t let him leave until it was, and that usually meant he’d get home even later after a long night cooped up in his office reviewing files. But the more Chandler dissected the meaning behind Miles prompting, the easier and quicker the answer came to him.

‘I—I can’t remember the last time I had to,’ Chandler admitted quietly. Miles hummed.

‘No, you don’t. And I’ll bet you don’t know why either.’ Chandler shook his head. ‘Because every night, when the rest of us goes back to our homes, our lives outside this station, Kent doesn’t. He stays here, unnoticed by you, tidying everything away. He’s good like that. Picks up on the things that bug you and does his best to make sure they never reach you.’

‘I didn’t know.’

Miles shrugged. ‘Not my place to out him, is it? It’s clear he cares, I’m just here to make sure you tell him you care back.’

‘I do care!’ Chandler snapped instantly, before lowering his voice, coughing, and correcting himself. ‘I care about everyone on my team.’

‘Then I think it’s about high time you started showing it, sir.’ Miles went to leave the office, to allow Chandler – well, not _stew_ – reflect on their conversation, his phone blared, and the detective was brought back to the prospect of the case. Miles left the boss sat at his chair, contemplating, and left the room to answer the call from Riley.

Chandler watched him go, but he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t care too much that his door had been left wide open.

 _How often had Kent gone unnoticed by him?_ Chandler thought to himself, an unsettling feeling coiled in his gut. Miles’ harsh words, the dig at Morgan Lamb, had Chandler shifted in his chair in discomfort.

Kent was a hard-working, selfless, thorough detective, Chandler listed. Kent was barely late, Chandler couldn’t remember the last time the young man didn’t arrive in the office at five-to-nine on the dot, but ever the occasion he _was_ late, he always has a reasonable excuse, unlike certain members of the team (Mansell). There was no denying that Kent was a good detective.

But then there was the man that Chandler ignored. The man who stayed late, cleaning the office, ever since he, Riley, and Mansell has found Chandler doing it the night of Riley’s first case with the team. The man who offered to make him tea or coffee when they’re both still working into the early hours of the morning. The man who acknowledged that Chandler has his demons, but never shunned him for it, instead going out of his way to be a supportive presence.

A glance was spared to the Detective Constable in question’s desk. Chandler smiled lightly as his mind supplied the image of Kent sat the desk no less than two weeks ago, face crinkled in laughter at something someone had said (Chandler assumed it was Mansell). Chandler remembered the way Kent’s eyes had then flickered over to him, suddenly shining with surprise when he saw that Chandler was watching. Face lightly flushed, Kent quickly diverted his attention back to his work, though he was seemingly trying to hush whatever it was Mansell was saying. The older man distinctly remembers the soft smile that played on his own lips at the exchange he observed.

The smile that splashed across his face in the present was shattered as Miles swarmed back into his office, something akin to weariness displayed on his.

‘Alec Whitfield is dead.’

»»————- ————-««

The young man’s apartment was flooded with SOCO and uniforms by the time Chandler and Miles had arrived. It was to be expected. However, Chandler was not expecting to see the familiar orange Vespa parked outside the apartment block with all the other Whitechapel Police vehicles. This time, Chandler didn’t deny the thrill that shot through him at the realisation that Kent was around.

Up in Alec Whitfield’s apartment, bird feathers (the kind that were found in cushions) scattered the wooden flooring, some soaked crimson as the pool of blood covered a vast majority of the apartment’s floor. Alec’s body lay prone in his living room, a single gaping hole evident in his chest and the cushion discarded at his feet. Clearly someone had used it as a silencer. Dr Llewellyn was already crouched by the body, making the preliminaries, while the three D.C.s were efficiently working their way through the apartment in search of anything of significance.

‘What are you doing back?’ Miles called out to the newly returned D.C., who turned around with mock offence at Miles’ incredulous tones. He looked up from where he had been rooting through Alec’s bookshelf over to the Detective Sergeant.

‘Mr Cardillo’s busy with board meetings today, and he’s got his lawyer looking out for him today so I don’t have to waste away through them.’

‘It’s good to have you back.’ The older man stole the words from Chandler before he could speak them. He wasn’t sure why that stung as hard as it did.

‘There’s only a single gunshot wound,’ Llewellyn called before Chandler could be lost in his thoughts, ‘to the chest, and seemingly the same to that cushion over there.’ She pointed to the one Chandler had noticed when he had walked in. ‘Defensive wounds on his wrists suggest that he knew what was coming, but someone washed the body down. I’ll have some trouble getting something forensic, if anything at all.’

‘Well, we can confirm that Alec Whitfield was involved in Harvey Simmons’ death.’ The familiar voice, the one Chandler hadn’t heard since the phone call about Sarah days prior, snapped Chandler’s head to where the dark-haired D.C. was stood with a small, glass, clear bottle clasped in a latex glove-clad hand. ‘What’s the betting this was how the saxitoxin got to the food?’ Subtle but bright, the smile that graced Chandler’s face was the one that hadn’t been seen since the ‘Krays’ case (and God, hadn’t that been an all-around nightmare enough? To this day, he still felt guilty about suspending Kent, even though the young man had arrived at Buchan’s house with an “it’s all right, Sir!” and continued like nothing happened. Joe would never let himself forget.)

‘Good work,’ Chandler heard himself say, and the answering beam on Kent’s face, the elated but embarrassed shine in his eyes had Chandler’s heart stuttering in his chest—and when had Kent caused _that_ before? Something inside the Inspector told him that he maybe hadn’t been paying attention before. ‘Have SOCO bag it and hopefully we’ll get the tests back quickly.’ Kent nodded and obeyed Chandler’s orders immediately, which was something Chandler noted with pride after his self-reflection in his office. Miles was right about that—Kent was always willing and ready to help.

But did that stretch to something more?

The man furrowed his brows; where did _that_ thought come from?

 _Not my place to out him, is it?_ Miles’ words flew through Chandler’s mind before he realised what he was reading into. He spared a glance between the two detectives that occupied his thoughts, beginning to piece together the insinuations that Miles’ talk had placed.

Across the room, Kent’s turmoil was taking place externally.

‘I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, mate,’ Mansell’s voice was loud even amongst the hustle and bustle of an active crime scene. Kent jumped slightly but did not hesitate in his thorough search of Alec’s apartment.

‘I’m not trying to fool anyone,’ Kent replied.

‘I know you’ve got a thing for Chandler.’ With wide eyes, Kent rounded on the older D.C. and quickly hushed him, only to receive a muffled snicker in return. Once it finished, Mansell lowered his voice. ‘I’m just saying—you might as well go for Angel. If what Erica’s told me is true—’

‘Erica’s been talking to you about my love life?’ Kent questioned. It was too late for Kent to take back the words, the glee on Mansell’s face enough evidence to back up what he had admitted. ‘What do you want, Mansell?’

‘All I’m saying is what Erica is, Kent. You can’t spend the rest of your life pining after someone who doesn’t even _glance_ at you like that, let alone return your feelings. We’re looking out for you. Erica wants to see you happy… and I guess I do, too.’

Kent was shocked, and touched, by Mansell’s words. He ducked his head and murmured a “thanks”. Mansell clapped him twice on the shoulder. The two Detective Constables parted to continue their rummaging through the personal belongings of Alec Whitfield.

The time passed by inconsequentially so. Once the search of the apartment had been completed with no other major discoveries presenting themselves, Kent had moved to door-to-door questioning of Alec’s neighbours. The young man felt the ache and tiredness settle in his bones as he approached his Vespa. Dusk had made itself known, with most of the SOCO vehicles and Whitechapel Police cars long gone from the scene, except…

Except a well-known, dark vehicle parked at the edge of the pavement, with a well-known man leaning against it. Chandler’s face seemed to light up at the sight of Kent (though Kent was certain he had imagined it – Chandler was not interested in Kent in any way, period. Their relationship didn’t stretch further than the incident room, and after everything with the last case? The way it hurt Chandler on a level Kent hadn’t been allowed to reach, not after his involvement? The pleased expression was nothing more than a figment of Kent’s overactive, hopeful imagination.)

‘Kent,’ The older man called like Kent hadn’t noticed him. That was a laugh. Kent always noticed him. ‘I’m glad I caught you.’ And that wasn’t what Kent had expected to be the first thing to fall from the Inspector’s lips.

‘Sir?’

‘I’m sorry,’ He blurted out, wide-eyed and pitiful. Kent’s pitiful. Kent’s heart clenched at the image. He coughed so he could breath again, only for Chandler to repeat himself, still embodying the look of a wounded dog. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what, sir?’

The man looked conflicted, unsure, and that was an expression Kent hadn’t seen on Chandler for a while.

‘Everything,’ The D.I. settled on finally, hands flexing at his side. Half of his face was illuminated in the harsh white of the street lamp. Kent snorted and tucked his hands into his pockets.

‘I don’t think you really have anything to be apologising for,’ Kent said.

‘I do.’ Chandler insisted. _Why couldn’t Kent see that?_ ‘I do!’

Kent could see the older man was working himself up, and that he himself was not helping by not understanding what the Inspector meant.

‘All right. Why don’t you start by telling me one thing you need to apologise for?’ suggested Kent. ‘Just take a breath first, and start again, eh?’

The other man nodded, eyes closed. He breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. Another nod, another breath, and Chandler’s eyes were open again.

‘Well, actually, what I’d like to do first is thank you.’

Kent let out a bark of laughter, struggling to contain himself even though he should based upon the horror that laced Chandler’s face.

‘Sorry, sir,’ Kent said around his smiles, ‘it’s just, you’re not making a lot of sense. You keep changing your story. If you were a suspect, we’d definitely have our eyes on you.’

A soft smile was returned, and Kent breathed an internal sigh of relief.

‘What I want to thank you for is your hard work as a detective. You are talented and skilled, and I’m not sure if I’ve made it clear that I’m proud of you— all of the team.’

‘Uh.’ A stain of red spread across Kent’s cheeks. That wasn’t something he had ever expected to hear from the older man. ‘Thank you, sir. I— _We’re_ all proud to have you as our D.I. I hope you know that.’

Chandler blinked. He didn’t.

‘Sir, we are _all_ so proud that you are our Detective Inspector, sir. Miles and I have seen plenty come and go, but you stuck around – albeit reluctantly, though I’d hope now you kind of like it here—’ _There were certain people who made that possible._ ‘—and you do your utmost best to get justice for people, and you keep fighting.’

At Kent’s words, something in Chandler longed for him to move forward and gather his D.C. in his arms, but his limbs felt like lead, rooted to the spot. He licked his lips. Something grateful flashed in Chandler’s eyes and smile, something that Kent returned with a wholehearted, blooming smile.

‘So, what do you think you have to apologise for?’

‘Well, I—You see—Miles had spoken to me, and—’ Chandler was gesticulating with his hands, attempting to convey what he wanted to say with the flapping motions of his hands. It obviously didn’t work, and Kent wasn’t sure why he did it, what possessed him to step so far over the line that had been created between them, but he did. Taking his hands out of his pockets, Kent reached forward and clasped Chandler’s shaking hands with his own.

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ Kent’s voice was impossibly soft; Chandler found himself forgetting everything he had planned to say, the way he wanted to say he was sorry slipping from his mind the same way water slipped through his fingers. Kent must have taken Chandler’s sudden stillness as offence, for he pulled his away like he had been burned. He coughed and apologised.

With a deep breath relighting the fire that had brought him here in the first place, Chandler tried again. ‘What I’m trying to say, Ken— _Emerson_ , is that I care. I do. I’m sorry that it doesn’t seem that way, I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. After Morgan… I was distraught, lost, whatever other word you want to fill the blank with. But that didn’t give me the right to treat you the way I did. I never have, and I never will, blame you for what happened.’

His heart was pounding in his chest and slowly but surely making his way up to his throat. Tears blurred his vision and when he blinked them away, Kent saw that Chandler had moved closer – so close that Kent could reach out and grab him, but he didn’t.

‘Kent?’ Chandler sounded perturbed, but for several moments, Kent’s voice betrayed him. Blinking in confusion, Kent finally managed to stutter out a reply.

‘Uh—thank you?’ He tried. He didn’t know how much he needed to hear those words, out loud from the man himself, until they had actually been spoken. ‘I mean, thank you. I do, too. Care about you, I mean.’

‘I figured.’ Chandler smiled. ‘That’s why you stay late, isn’t it? Because you care?’

Chandler watched the blush rise from Kent’s neck and up to his temple. The young D.C. stammered and shifted on the spot, evidently embarrassed that he had been caught.

‘You—You know about that?’

‘After a hint from Miles or two.’

‘Skip?’

The shrugged response was nonchalant, but the words that followed were not.

‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to the pub, Kent.’ The sincerity had Kent’s breath hitching, and he was positive his eyes were wide with shock and hope. _What was he saying?_

‘It’s all right, sir,’ Kent offered, ‘it wasn’t a celebratory night after all, was it?’

‘No,’ Chandler laughed dryly before holding Kent’s gaze, ‘but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have liked to go.’

Kent‘s jaw did its best impression of a goldfish, opening and closing as it didn’t know what to do. Shuddering out a breath, Kent squared his shoulders, though he couldn’t stop _his_ hands from shaking. His heart stopped as Chandler did his best to help, mirroring Kent’s actions from earlier, taking Kent’s hands within his larger ones. They continued to tremble.

‘Would… Would you like to go sometime soon, sir? Maybe at the end of this case?’ Kent asked, feeling as brave as he had the first time he asked. Chandler’s answer was the same, too.

‘I’d love to.’

»»————- ————-««

‘SOCO confirmed it,’ Riley said strolling into the incident room, sheet of paper in her hand, two days after Alec’s death. ‘The substance that was that bottle in Alec Whitfield’s was saxitoxin.’

‘Why would he want Angel Cardillo dead?’ Mansell asked.

‘I don’t think _he_ specifically wanted Mr Cardillo dead,’ chimed in Chandler from his position in front of the whiteboard. ‘I think it’s most likely that someone used him to poison the food at Treves, and then they killed him for fear that he would talk.’ Kent’s desk phone chose that moment to disturb the detectives’ train of investigation. He reached for it while they continued, a smile splayed on his lips as he caught Chandler’s eye.

‘So, we need to comb over everyone in Alec’s life. Find out who he’s been in contact with, where he’s been. Riley, can you pull up Alec’s phone logs, see who he’s been talking to. Mansell, see if you can track down where the bottle of saxitoxin. Kent—’ and didn’t that feel good, calling the young man’s name knowing for a fact that he’d be there…

It seemed that he had hoped too soon.

‘Uh—I don’t think I could do much for you, sir.’ The phone was lowered back to its space slowly as he regarded his team members with a confused look. ‘I need to head to the Apex Temple Court Hotel.’

‘What’s there?’ Mansell asked.

‘Mr Cardillo.’


	5. zelotypia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles talks with Chandler in his office, again. Kent and Angel reach a high point, only for something to cause it to come crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, it's been a while, but i'm here with another chapter. sorry if I leave for a large amount of time after this - some exams are this week, and i've got some NEAs/Personal Statements to write, alongside the fact that my internet keeps cutting out... i am BEYOND stressed right now.
> 
> there is also a lot of switching between perspectives in this chapter, now that i look at it.

Kent paused in the hotel room’s doorway; it was larger than any room he had ever stayed in before, and it was a lot more luxurious, too. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief that was emitted at the sight of two beds in the room, separated by a nightstand in the middle. Gold illuminated the space, the lamps on the tables worth more than Kent’s shared flat.

‘You really splashed out,’ commented Kent, his steps slow as he walked across the threshold. He spun around once to take the room in in its entirety, noting the desk that was in the corner of the room, positioned by the window. ‘I doubt I could afford this with the sum of my entire career’s pay slips.’

‘Good thing you’re not having to pay then, isn’t it, Emerson?’ Angel smiled. ‘I thought that if I was going to be hiding during the course of your investigation, then I should at least be hiding in comfort.’

‘Hopefully it shouldn’t be too much longer.’ Kent sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the door. He placed his duffel bag down the side between the wall and the bed, hands then rested on his thighs. Regarding him with a pensive look, Angel was opposite the young D.C., leaned against the chest of drawers that held a large screen TV. Kent glanced away before holding the entrepreneur’s eyes, quirking his eyebrow.

‘Am I really that bad to be around?’ Angel snorted at Kent’s expression as the young man recounted his words in his head. He returned Angel’s glance with a hard stare, shoulders slumped.

‘You know what I mean, Mr Cardillo,’ Kent said. ‘The quicker we solve this case, the quicker you can return back to your normal life, and – hopefully – no one else will be out to end your existence.’

‘Even if there was someone else who wanted me dead, I still have you to call upon, Detective Constable Kent.’

He didn’t know how he felt about that. When the atmosphere in the room became too much for Kent to bear, he rose from the bed (hoping he looked confident) and moved to the desk, lowering himself into the fancy chair behind it – what he would do to get a chair like it in the incident room.

Angel’s eyes followed his movements, Kent was well aware, but he made no notion to remark upon it, nor encourage a conversation.

‘My boss has given me some names to follow up,’ Kent explained, feeling every bit like the babysitter he claimed earlier. ‘Have you got anything quiet you can be doing?’

Angel laughed, a laugh from deep in his chest, as he picked up on the vibes as well. He moved to the bedside table, pulling a small stack of papers and files from the drawer before situating himself on the bed, fixing them on his lap.

‘Be happy I do.’

‘I am.’ Kent’s mischief elicited another deep laugh from the man on the bed.

»»————- ————-««

Chandler had used the commotion of Riley, Mansell, and now Buchan, searching through the swamps of paperwork handed to them by Angel Cardillo’s assistant, to slip quietly into his office. He did not hesitate in reaching for the routine that calmed the storm in his mind. He ignored the way Miles followed after, much like he had done the week before, and continued to focus on the files that lay parallel to the edges of his desk. Miles perched himself in his usual seat but made no motion to begin a conversation. Instead, he allowed the D.I. to read the file in silence for a few minutes until the man let out a breath and rested his elbows atop the desk’s surface, rubbing his hands across his tired face.

‘Buchan’d call this déjà vu or whatever,’ Miles uttered, seemingly disgruntled at the use of Buchan’s name. Chandler was slow to move his hands away from his face, but when he did, he gave the older man a look that clearly said he had no clue what the Detective Sergeant was on about. Miles used his hands to emphasise the scene around them in return.

‘Last time we were together in your office, we were having a heart-to-heart about the lad.’

Chandler’s eyebrows creased. ‘We’re not talking about Kent.’ Miles’ eyes lit up with glee, and by the time Chandler realised his mistake, it was too late.

‘No, we’re not… But now that you mention it…’

The Detective Inspector bit back a groan that was bubbling in his throat. Miles did not look impressed, and told Chandler such before he leaned forward in his chair to give the blond-haired man a bone-chilling, almost fatherly, glare that was a stark contrast to the amusement that had been present mere moments prior.

‘You’re allowed to be happy, you know.’ Miles’ statement was not what Chandler had expected. He scanned Miles’ face, willing for clarity, but it seemed that Miles had decided to remain cryptic. ‘Your prospects didn’t die along with Morgan Lamb.’ Both men noted that Chandler didn’t flinch at the mention of her name the same way he used to.

‘I’ve told you before, Miles.’ Chandler averted his gaze. ‘I’m a particular man. Not a lot of people understand, let alone are willing to… be with me long, not when they discover how I am.’

‘Déjà vu once again,’ Miles said with a smile, ‘I thought we had established that there _was_ someone.’

Miles gave Chandler the credit when the Inspector was quick to pick up on what the Sergeant was suggesting. ‘What? No. No, no, no. I could never… _Kent_?’

‘You may be blind, but we’re certainly not.’

His hands were wringing as Chandler tried to avoid Miles’ scrutiny. The older man let the room quieten, let Chandler agonize over the thoughts in his head. He waited, patiently, until Chandler finally looked up, speaking in low spirits.

‘It would never work.’

‘This again? Boss, no disrespect but I told you—’

‘No, I understand that Miles. After our talk, I thanked him. I’d like to go to the pub with him, but we’re going as colleagues—I’d hope as _friends_ , but there’s nothing more. There’s a whole load of other reasons, and I couldn’t do that. Not to him.’ Miles did not attempt to hide the way he rolled his eyes. Crossing his legs, Miles gave Chandler a daring look.

‘Go on then.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The reasons. Why won’t you give this a chance when you so clearly want to?’

‘He’s… young.’ Chandler licked his lips anxiously. ‘Well, younger.’ Miles didn’t seem affected by Chandler’s reason, opting to shrug his shoulders in nonchalance as he brushed off imaginary dust from the knee of his suit trousers. ‘Don’t you think he should be with someone closer to his age?’

‘Not that big a difference between you, is there?’ Miles commented. ‘There’s twelve between me and Judy.’ Chandler didn’t respond, instead choosing to rearrange the items on his desk as he thought over his next words.

‘I’m also his boss, in case you forgot,’ He said, ‘and people in this department don’t hesitate to talk.’

‘Only our team would need to know,’ countered Miles, ‘so I don’t see why you feel you would need to shout it to the world. Unless that’s your sort of thing.’ At Chandler’s unimpressed look, Miles sighed. ‘I’m not saying you have to keep it a secret, but there’s nothing to say that you’re not allowed to keep your private life discreet.’

Chandler looked away. Miles was right, and he knew it, but none of what he had stated was the real reason he hadn’t pursued a relationship with the young Detective Constable. Miles seemed to sense that the D.I. was holding something back. He silently questioned what was making Chandler distressed. It seemed that Chandler did want to speak, but every time his mouth moved, no words seemed to come out.

‘It would never go far. We would never—’ He settled on finally. Miles looked confused; he did not understand what Chandler meant, but the man refused to divulge what he was trying to convey. Letting out a breath, the Detective Sergeant recounted the words he had pleaded to Chandler over one Lizzie Pepper.

‘This job will always give you an excuse, you’ll always find a reason not to make that phone call, not to have that dinner—’ Giving Chandler a pointed look, he added, ‘Not to go to the pub. But what did I tell you? It’s not going to keep you warm at night.’

Chandler looked the same as he did when he had heard the speech the first time.

‘Right,’ Miles said after silence had passed just a little too long. ‘Why don’t we go talk to the head chef from Treves? See if he knows anything about Alec Whitfield.’

»»————- ————-««

‘What about—’ Kent squinted at the paper as he read the next name on the list. ‘—Kieran Southern? When was the last time you heard from him?’

Angel spared a look to Kent, tilting the phone away from his mouth as he tried to engage in two conversations at the same time. ‘No— uh, Aria, hold on… No, no, it’s definitely not Kieran.’

‘How can you be sure?’ Kent argued, capping his pen with the lid to give Angel his full attention. ‘He seemed quite angry that you caught him embezzling funds from your company.’

‘Ah, yes, but that money was only for his mother’s health care treatment in a specialist facility,’ Angel sat up, leaning against the bed’s headboard. He’d placed his phone upon the stand, and Kent could only assume that he had muted his other conversation. Angel continued. ‘He paid all the money back, and I agreed to pay what was needed to keep his mother in the care.’

Kent paused, musing on Angel’s words before uncapping the pen to cross _Kieran Southern_ off the list neatly. Angel watched to motions carefully, poised as if he wanted to say something, only for his chance to dissipate at the sound of sharp knocks at the hotel room door. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, Kent’s head shot up, eyes trained on the white wood. He then flicked them over to Angel as he slowly rose from his seat.

‘Did you call someone?’ Kent asked.

‘Room service,’ Angel replied. Kent opened the door to reveal one of the hotel staff with a small trolley of food, and a bottle of champagne cooled in ice. He stared at the food, then at Angel, asked the staff member to wait a moment, and then shut the door.

‘Are you trying to make my job difficult?’ Kent accused to Angel’s amusement.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Angel moved to join Kent behind the door, staring down at him in query.

Kent sighed, alongside rolling his eyes, using the hand that wasn’t on the door’s handle to gesture vaguely at the trolley behind it. ‘Given the way that Harvey Simmons was murdered – in a very public place, might I emphasise – I think I’d prefer it if any food you want is fetched or made by people I work with.’ He finished his chastising with a pointed look, ignoring the fond one Angel gave him.

‘Can we at least keep the bottle of champagne? After all, it is sealed.’ At Kent’s sceptical stare, Angel huffed and pressed on. ‘You can check it, see if it’s been tampered with if it makes you feel better.’

Kent thought on it before he relented, opening the door and allowing the entrepreneur to reach through and take the bottle, along with two glasses, flashing a dazzling smile at the young woman behind the silver trolley. Kent moved back to the desk while Angel moved back to where he had been situated on the bed.

‘Can I pour you a glass, Emerson?’ He called out, the liquid fizzing and bubbling as he poured it into the flute glass clutched in his hand.

‘I’m on duty.’ Was Kent’s response. Angel took a sip as he mused, regarding the Detective Constable in front of him. Upon feeling the stare boring into him, Kent raised his head to meet Angel’s focus curiously.

‘What?’ He asked nervously.

‘You take your job seriously. It makes me feel safe. It’s why I like you.’

»»————- ————-««

Peter Harvest, Head Chef at Treves, swanned about the kitchen, moving between the different stations, tension clearly held in his jaw and shoulders. The pots and pans, knives and cleavers clattered and echoed as Peter took his anger out on the inanimate objects.

‘If I had _any_ idea what that shithead was up to,’ Peter began, brandishing the kitchen knife that was clenched in his right hand, ‘I would have killed him myself – because of him, the bloody health department has shut me down!’

Miles coughed to hide his gleeful snort. ‘Unfortunately for you, we think someone put Alec Whitfield up to it. You got any idea who that might be?’

Pausing in his movements, Peter regarded the two men with his full attention. He leaned against the metallic surface of the kitchen sideboard and sighed long and lowly.

‘All I can tell you is the son of a bitch was late.’

‘What, that’s it?’ Chandler sounded affronted. Peter fixed the man with a pointed look, one that implied Chandler should have understood the severity of his statement, but Chandler merely remained ignorant to the meaning until Peter spelled it out for him.

‘He was _late._ No one is _ever_ late when they work for me. I would have fired him on the spot, but…’

‘But what?’ Miles interjected.

‘There was something… off about him when he finally did show his face. He’d looked like he’d seen a ghost. He was shaken. It’s why I had him washing dishes most of that evening, but if what you’re saying is true, it’s probably why he volunteered himself and took away Mr Cardillo’s company’s platter.’

‘Right, well, thank you for your time.’

»»————- ————-««

Kent shifted in the seat. He licked his lips, letting a breath slip silently from his nose. A nameless rhythm was beat out, tapped against the wooden surface with the lid on the end of the pen. The young D.C. wasn’t sure how he was to respond to Angel’s words. He decided to change the topic instead.

‘So, what did you want to be before you became Angel Cardillo?’ Kent asked, emphasising the man’s name. Placing the glass on to the nightstand, Angel raised a leg so he sat comfortably on the mattress, moving back to rest on his hands.

‘What makes you think there was something else?’ Angel retorted. Kent shrugged, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

‘I somehow don’t believe you finished secondary school and immediately became the entrepreneur that started to save the world. Something must have happened.’

Angel laughed, though it wasn’t long nor as jovial as before, and as he spared a look to his feet, Kent felt as though he had crossed some unspoken line until the strong grey irises met his hazel.

‘My niece died when she was twelve,’ Angel started off quietly. Kent’s heart didn’t take long to break. ‘A defect in her heart. Doctors couldn’t do anything, the valves they used before kept giving out; so I dropped out of my chemistry degree and dedicated my early twenties to developing a new valve. It’s what started my clean water campaign, too.’

‘Oh, wow, uhm… I’m— I’m so sorry, Mr Cardillo.’ Kent found himself moving across the space, only to falter, and he moved back to rest against the front of the desk.

‘Please, Emerson. How many times have I asked? Call me Angel.’

He licked his lips once more. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Angel.’

Moments passed in a silence that teetered on the line between fine and intolerable. Moments more passed before Kent finally gestured back to the desk behind him lamely.

‘I should probably get back to that list.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Angel smiled, ‘you’ve been at that list all night. Can’t I tempt you with at least one glass?’ He didn’t wait for Kent’s reply, instead returning to the nightstand to grab the emerald green bottle and the empty glass. Kent relented and met Angel halfway, accepting the drink presented to him. Even with the setting, the way Angel looks at him over the rim of his own flute glass, something about it just doesn’t feel right with Kent.

He flashed a grin back, nonetheless.

»»————- ————-««

‘Well, that was a bloody waste o’ time,’ Miles muttered as he and Chandler returned to the incident room later that evening. Mansell, Riley, and surprisingly, Buchan, were gathered around the former man’s computer screen. ‘What’s all this about, then?’ The sergeant gestured with his hands limply before he joined the small gathering to stare at a grainy CCTV still.

‘Something happened between Alec dropping his daughter off at school, and the restaurant,’ Riley explained, pointing to the screencap of a tall man in a dark jacket wearing a baseball cap stood in front of a clearly terrified Alec Whitfield. ‘That’s Alec, but we don’t know who he’s talking to. This is the only camera in the area.’ Riley taps Mansell on the shoulder, and the other D.C. pressed the spacebar so that the two frozen men quickly jumped to life. The man in the baseball cap handed over the bottle to Alec, who glanced down at it in uncertainty.

‘That’s the bottle of saxitoxin,’ Chandler murmured, having moved to join his team. ‘That means that whoever this man is most likely the one who killed Alec. Let’s get a shot of this sent over to Kent, see if Mr Cardillo can give us a hint to his identity.’

‘We could also have it technologically inspected.’ Buchan suggested. ‘After all, we’re more than just our faces. He’s left-handed, that much we know.’ The four detectives looked at Buchan in silence. The historian leaned over Mansell in order to rewind and press play on the video, pointing out two movements that the nameless man made – grabbing Alec by the arm and then handing over the bottle. Squinting slightly, Buchan hovered a finger over the screen to point out a white, square placed carefully on the man’s neck. ‘And what’s that?’

Mansell squinted and leaned forward. ‘Looks like a bandage. Maybe he’s got an injury?’

‘Or he could be covering up a tattoo,’ Riley argued. ‘We can run those things through our database, come up with some more names?’

»»————- ————-««

‘I wish I could be of more help, Emerson, but I couldn’t tell you who this man is even if I could see his face.’ Angel handed back Kent’s phone. The young man tucked it away into his back pocket. Kent nodded but couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face. Angel’s scrunched up as he apologised once more.

‘It’s okay,’ Kent reassured. ‘It’s going to be fine. We’ll find him.’

‘I know.’ Angel’s impish grin was back. ‘I’ve told you: I feel completely safe in your care.’ Kent sent him a look between incredulous and disbelief from where he was leaning against the desk once more. An eyebrow was raised.

‘After only knowing me for a short time?’

‘After your voicemail,’ Angel replied. Kent was unsure; all the flattery that he received from the man made him uneasy, but had butterflies swarming in his stomach also. He let a short laugh escape his throat as he shook his head.

‘So. You know everything about me?’ Kent crossed his arms. Angel smiled back. He returned the champagne glass to the nightstand.

‘Pretty much.’ Angel shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, feigning nonchalance. Kent eyed him curiously. ‘There is one thing I can’t get my head around…’

Kent raised a precarious eyebrow as he regarded the man before him, the small action gesturing the older man on. Angel sighed and removed his hands to gesticulate with his hands as if he didn’t know what to say.

‘You and Detective Inspector Chandler.’

‘Ah.’ If it had been a movie, Kent was sure he would have seen the freeze frame accompanied with a record scratch. He unfolded his arms to use them to lean back on the desk, gaze adverted. Moments passed where no man made a move to talk – Kent had no idea what he would say. What _could_ he say? Yes, there was Kent’s unspoken attraction to the D.I., not that the silence of it meant people like Mansell, Riley, Miles, and now Angel were oblivious to it. No, that was only Chandler himself.

‘You were quite defensive of him the time you told me I was marked for death,’ Angel grinned. ‘I have a habit of reading into things. Are you and him…?’ Angel trailed off, unsure if he should finish his sentence.

‘What?’ Kent’s head whipped around to look at Angel, wide-eyed. The words sunk in, and he shook his head vehemently. ‘Huh? No, no. There is nothing between him and me.’ Angel’s eyes were laced with sympathy.

‘But you wish there were.’ He wasn’t accusatory, or upset, or offended. In fact, he sounded like he understood. Angel walked closer. ‘Have you spoken to him about your attraction?’

Kent felt his eyes bulge. ‘God, no!’

‘Well, why not?’

‘Multiple reasons.’ Kent held up his fingers as he listed his arguments. ‘He doesn’t reciprocate; we work together, so even if he was nice about it, I don’t think I could work that close to him for very long; he’s… _him_ , so I don’t even know if he wants anyone, especially after Ms Lamb, never mind _me_ —’

Angel took another step closer as Kent caught himself mid self-deprecating rant. ‘Then he’s a fool.’

Kent remained silent, fully aware of the minimal space between him and Angel (Kent was sure he could feel the heat from Angel’s body through the heat of his suit) though he didn’t break the hold of the other man’s stare. Kent licked his lips before responding. ‘It’s—It’s complicated.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Angel took his chance and leaned down to Kent, who tilted his head to meet Angel’s halfway. It was barely a kiss, more of a brushing of lips, but Kent closed his eyes nonetheless, savouring the moment, the hands on his forearms and the heat piercing his skin, until the smile on Chandler’s face – the one that beamed like nothing Kent had ever seen before – flashed in his mind from the moment the two had made-up outside of Alec Whitfield’s apartment, and Kent remembered where he was. He lightly pushed Angel back, a “no” formed on his tongue when the resounding shot of the window glass breaking echoed through the safe house, shards of glass splintering. One sliced Kent’s cheek, and warmth like tears slid down the fair skin.

Kent wasted no time in hauling the two of them to the floor, three more shots filling their ears with a deafening shrill only to fall deathly silent in a matter of moments. With his heart thumping in his chest, Kent opened his eyes – and when had he shut them? – and quickly scanned the body beneath him. Angel was looking back at him with a mixture of relief and horror, and Kent let out the breath he was holding.


	6. ira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of what happened at the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! i got the result of one of my exams and i cried *insert that emoji with sunglasses here* though at least they were only mocks....
> 
> anyway, does anybody know the timespan between the Ripper case and the Abrahamians' case? i've got the outline of a season 5 whitechapel fic underway, but i'd like to know the time that has passed between Chandler first joining and his final (on screen) case. if not, that's cool, i'll guess lol.
> 
> without further ado, here is chapter 6. thank you to everyone who supports this!

‘Do SOCO have any more information on the gun that was used?’ Chandler asked, eyes locked on to the photos of the blood-soaked bullet and shell casing from Alec Whitfield’s apartment that he held in his hand.

Before any of the detectives in the room could answer, Buchan came scurrying into the incident room, pushing a trolley holding a projector, and he dumped a heavy, beige box filled with files that had been under his arm atop Mansell’s desk, dutifully ignoring the spluttered indignation. He then glided across the space to the end of the room and opened his portable projector screen. Miles held a hand out, looking at Chandler as if to ask him, ‘What?’

‘Uh, Ed?’ Chandler asked as a form of prompting. The historian moved back to the collection of detectives, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Pulling out thick wads of paper from within the box situated on Mansell’s desk, Ed delved into his spiel with the dramatic flair he possessed.

‘After my travels through history, I found one other instance where this particular gun was used.’ Ed lifted up a slightly pixelated image of a handgun. ‘I am reluctant to admit it’s a pretty modern instance, but it is an instance nonetheless!’ Turning on his heel, Buchan lit up the projector screen by turning on the projector, a crime scene photo illuminating the room: a man with dark hair and light eyes was pictured, his skin ashen and lifeless in the harsh brightness of the SOCO camera lens. Blood pooled around his head and a tiny stream slipped from the corner of his mouth and rolled to the concrete beneath him. Red blossomed over the heart of powder blue shirt.

‘This is Daniel Shaw. He was a twenty-seven-year-old personal assistant for a rather large company, and the man whose life was taken in a similar way to Alec Whitfield fifteen years ago. According to the Newcastle police files, he was found in the car park of his employer’s business, a blow to the back of the head after being shot in the back.’ Buchan paused before catching the eye of Chandler. ‘Two names were the primary focus of this investigation, the first being that of one Dominic Reid. He has links with all sorts of London’s shady underground characters. Word is that he’s a hitman for hire now.’ Mansell let out a low whistle of surprise, while Miles snorted in disbelief.

‘And the second name?’ Chandler probed. An expectancy coated his face as he disregarded the photos in his hand in favour of the new information that Buchan was providing. He became confused as Buchan appeared slightly worried.

‘The other name – the man whose company Daniel worked for – was Angel Cardillo.’

_‘What?’_

The historian nodded before he moved the slide along; a young girl not that much older than Daniel, with similar features – long curls of brown, hazel eyes wide with fear – was positioned on the grass of an embankment, evidently having suffered being strangled if the purple lacerations around her neck were anything to go by. She, too, had been branded by the hand of Death in the form of glaring forensic photography.

‘Who’s this?’ Miles asked.

‘Maya Fairway,’ replied Buchan. ‘Thirty years old and a chemical engineer. She was found strangled in an area of Leeds surrounding a factory… that was also owned by Angel Cardillo.’ Tensions rose in the room as Buchan revealed another photo and another body: ‘And this is Julian Markov.’ He, like the rest of the dead, had dark locks and light eyes that were now devoid of any emotion as Julian’s body was depicted floating in a large fountain. ‘He was found in York, another location of—’

‘Cardillo’s company.’ Chandler finished, nails digging into his palm. ‘What about this Dominic Reid? Why was he a person of interest?’

Buchan shrugged. ‘That isn’t very clear, I’m afraid. He’d been in prison for aggravated assault prior to the murder, and he was in the area at the time, but there was no links between Reid and Cardillo’s company. I haven’t finished reading the files as of yet, so that may reveal itself shortly.’

Silence passed as the new information was slowly digested. Mansell broke it as he raised his hand in a school gesture and asked:

‘Doesn’t Cardillo employ like hundreds of people? Why were the other detectives focused on him?’

‘According to witness statements, on the days of Daniel’s and Maya’s murders, people had seen Angel arguing with both of them, and both times it seemed quite heated, but due to all the evidence being only circumstantial, they could never tie it to him, and each division turned their attentions elsewhere.’

Chandler didn’t like the sound of that. He liked it even less with the knowledge that Kent was staying in a hotel room with the man. Alone. ‘Right.’ He said as way of clearing his throat. ‘Let’s reinvestigate these cases, see if anything significant jumps out that the other divisions missed. Riley, you and Mansell can help Buchan sieve through the box pertaining to the cases.’

‘Will do, sir.’

‘Look into the witness statements; we may have to re-interview some of the people involved. Miles, you and I—’ Whatever he and Miles were about to do was cut off by the sound of Chandler’s phone blaring from the depths of the pocket lining the inside of his jacket. Awkwardly ignoring the gazes of his team, Chandler made to reject the call until Kent’s name took up residence on the screen. Then, awkwardly ignoring the jolt of relief that flashed through him, Chandler answered Kent’s call after eight rings.

‘Yes, Kent, is everything all right?’ He let out on one breath and hoped that the younger man understood what was said.

‘Sorry, sir.’ Kent apologised like he had done something wrong. ‘I was just calling to inform you that Mr Cardillo and I have just been shot at through the hotel’s window. We’ve cordoned off this floor and the one below it, but we’re—’

Chandler, if he was being honest, didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, nor did he care for it, as all that reverberated in his mind was _Kent’s been shot, Kent’s been shot, Kent’s been shot._ And he knew he was wrong. Chandler knew the thought was illogical, that Kent was fine, sure he sounded a little shaky over the phone, but wouldn’t anyone if they had just had bullets aimed in their general area?

Rationality didn’t win. Chandler needed to see the man for himself.

‘Stay there. I’m on my way.’ _To you_ was left unsaid but lingered along the line with hopes of more. Turning back to his team, Chandler relayed the news and soon, quickly, the four detectives were out the incident room and on their way to the Apex Temple Court Hotel. If Chandler strained between keeping to the speed limit and inching just over, Miles didn’t comment, nor did the older sergeant comment on the way Chandler’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

The pressure, Chandler noted, reminded him of a time he and Kent had spent driving to a crime scene; that had been long before Morgan Lamb.

_It’s okay, sir!’ Kent laughed, attention drawn to the houses, trees, and signs whizzing by. His Vespa had been crashed into by a getaway suspect in a previous case; they’d managed to bring the killer in alive in that one, but not without the price of Kent’s Vespa. While it was being fixed, Chandler had offered to give Kent lifts to and from work. After all, Kent had done his best to make Chandler’s travels tolerable, shouldn’t he return the favour?_

_The confused side-glance that Chandler shot to his passenger didn’t go unnoticed. Kent gestured to the speed limit sign as they passed it. ‘You want to get us there promptly, it is a crime scene after all, but you don’t want to break the speed limit. It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what’s worrying you— don’t look at me like that, you’ve been flexing your fingers around the steering for the entire drive. I don’t know why you do it, sir, but it’s no bother. It’s not like our man’s going to get any dead-er.’ Chandler smiled widely, shifting in his seat as he took in Kent’s words. He glanced at the man once more as he started talking again. ‘Besides, it just makes you a better policeman that you won’t even break the minor laws!’_

_The corrections to Kent’s innocuous statement remained unsaid, facts and statistics about road traffic collisions that were by no means minor lodged in the back of Chandler’s mind while he found himself letting loose a short bark of laughter that followed Kent’s giggling._

_Even though it was no where near as funny as they made it out to be, the two detectives arrived on scene still sharing intermittent laughter. Miles had questioned him about it before he’d ducked under the tape, but Chandler just watched Kent’s retreating form as he moved to talk to the witnesses gathered, shook his head and divulged no answers._

_It remained between him and Kent._

Pulling the car to a stop and killing the engine, Chandler and Miles joined Riley and Mansell, and the four detectives moved into the hotel as one. Flashing their warrant cards at the reception, they were directed to the floor and Chandler found himself all but running towards the lift. Angel was stood outside the room, two officers next to him. Upon passing, Chandler ordered that the uniforms took the entrepreneur down to Whitechapel station.

‘For your safety.’ Chandler explained as Angel followed the uniforms out.

Glass crunched under his dress shoes as he entered the hotel room, and the young man’s name was slipping from his mouth before he knew what he was doing.

»»————- ————-««

‘Kent!’ The concerned shout across the room was the announcement of Chandler’s arrival. Kent turned from the uniformed officer he had been talking to watch while Chandler rushed across the room to meet the D.C., the rest of the team trailed in after him. Mansell and Miles began their inspection of the room, smiling at the sight of their fellow detective in one piece. Meanwhile, Kent was surprised at the fear-laden face of his superior officer, but the chance to question it was distracted by Riley’s sudden appearance at his side and mothering.

‘Emerson, darling, are you all right?’ She asked quickly, hand resting on his upper arm as she looked at him anxiously. Kent swallowed the lump that had settled in his throat and nodded his head jerkily. He didn’t trust his voice, not after seeing the terror on Chandler’s face. ‘We’ve got Cardillo headed back to the office now; probably a better place for him. At this rate, we’ll have to lock him in the cells for his own safety!’ Riley’s joke, while not the funniest thing Kent had heard, still elicited a short laugh from Kent.

‘I hate that we have to do this right this second, but we’ll need to get a statement from you,’ Riley explained. Kent shrugged.

‘I understand.’

Riley pulled a notebook from her bag, along with a pen, and flicked to a clean page. Chandler watched on in silence. ‘So where were you standing when the first shot was fired?’ Kent let out a huff of air and raised his hands as he thought. He moved across the space, back to the mahogany desk, and reassumed the position he had been in twenty minutes prior.

‘I was here,’ Kent said. Riley nodded. She and Chandler moved to stand near Kent, who was purposefully avoiding the D.I.’s curious stare.

‘And Angel Cardillo?’ Riley prompted. Kent gestured in front of him lamely and was flippant with his response.

‘There.’

Chandler’s eyebrows furrowed together, and he stepped forward to stand where Kent had pointed out. He looked up to find he was in Kent’s space. His attention then turned to the bullet hole in the window. Chandler narrowed his eyes.

‘He was here, then?’ Chandler, unlike Angel, did sound accusatory. Kent couldn’t help the twinge in his heart before he caught himself. ‘Why was he so close?’ The young D.C. didn’t respond, instead more interested in picking at the thread of his sleeve. ‘Kent—’

‘He, uh, he tripped, sir.’

‘ _Tripped_?’ Chandler’s tone had taken on incredulous. ‘He was lucky enough to miss eating a poisoned meal, and then he was lucky enough to miss a bullet through his skull _because_ _he_ _tripped_? This Angel Cardillo has one too many happenstances if you ask me.’

Kent, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his focus on the night skyline of Whitechapel, let out a shuddering breath and willed himself to look Chandler in the eye, silently daring him to say something about inappropriate conduct in return:

‘He kissed me, sir.’

‘Oh.’ Riley’s gasp slipped out before she could stop herself, and she quickly closed her notepad. She darted away, mumbling something about Mansell calling her, and was gone with a ducked head.

‘He what?’ Chandler wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

‘He kissed me,’ Kent repeated. ‘I won’t lie to you, sir. We were talking about him, we were talking about me, and then—then he kissed me.’ Kent silently argued in his head that _just because I said I wouldn’t lie, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t omit._

Chandler felt his heart hammering against his ribcage, the onslaught of… was it _jealousy_? … simmering under his skin.

‘Why wouldn’t you just— _push_ him away?’

Kent suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He splayed his hands to the destruction of the hotel room around them, and Kent swore he could register the moment a light went off in Chandler’s head. His “oh” was much like Riley’s, and Kent half-expected Chandler to take that as a way for him to swoop out. He didn’t expect, however, for Chandler to grasp him lightly by his wrist and pull him from the room and out into a secluded hallway.

‘Sir?’

‘I thought you were responsible, Kent,’ Chandler said, haughty. Kent rolled his eyes once again, and that got the Inspector irater. ‘I thought you were the one who told me that I shouldn’t be getting involved with persons of interest.’

‘Yet you did, didn’t you?’ Kent huffed. ‘You say that you don’t blame me for what happened, but right now you’re making it very evident that you still don’t trust me!’

‘It’s just a bit hypocritical, that’s all!’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘You kissed him?’ Chandler tried – he really did – not to sound affronted, but the way Kent glowered proved him wrong. Kent’s anger seemed to surface as he hissed back.

‘ _He_ kissed _me_.’ Kent’s eyes were ice, and instead of quelling the fire that burned in Chandler’s, they only seemed to fuel the sparks of anger.

That made Chandler freeze. _Why_ did _he care?_ He cast his thoughts back to his and Miles’ conversation in his office, and, finally, Chandler admitted to himself that Miles’ words were true. The idea of Angel kissing Kent before Chandler could had the Inspector’s blood boiling with shame, his brain telling him that he had waited too long, but also willing him to take the chance to reveal the truth. But he couldn’t tell Kent that. Not now. Not after what had not long ago happened, and not with what he had learned about Angel. Was the entrepreneur truly involved in the cases that had happened across the country?

‘Either way, he is an involved individual in this case, and personal involvement—’

‘Personal involvement? You, sir, want to talk to me about personal involvement? What about Morgan Lamb?’

‘Don’t you—’

‘Don’t what? Say her name? Am I still not allowed to say her name in your presence?’

‘That’s not—’ Chandler was getting sick of Kent cutting him off.

‘It doesn’t matter anyway, sir, because I’m headed down to the station. Someone still needs to take Mr Cardillo’s statement, and I don’t think you’re able to do that right now.’

‘And you are?’

Kent scoffed and moved past the D.I., leaving the conflicted man stood at the end of the hallway. With Kent gone, Chandler felt the tightness of his body dissipate and his anger along with it. With Kent gone, Chandler felt a surge of hatred at himself and he covered his mouth with his hand while the other rested on his hip. The sound of quiet footsteps behind him had Chandler straightening himself out, but he did not turn around to face who he knew was there.

‘You were right.’ Chandler was resigned. He pushed his jacket away from his hips and rested his hands there, staring at a spot on the floor, willing the tears he felt welling to disappear. Miles huffed out a laugh.

‘I’m right about a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific.’

‘You were right about Kent.’

‘Oh.’ Miles moved closer. ‘Well, of course I was. Why is this an issue?’ Chandler, finally, turned to meet Miles’ eye and he let his hands fall loosely at his side.

‘Because I think I’ve gone and messed it up.’

‘Ah, that.’ Miles shrugged. ‘The lad’ll forgive you. He’ll forgive you for practically anything.’

  
‘You were listening?’ Chandler sounded incredulous.

  
‘You were being louder than you thought,’ Miles said. ‘I’m sure if you apologise, you’ll be back in Kent’s good books in no time.’

  
Looking off down the hall, Chandler murmured, ‘I hope you’re right about that.’


	7. pavor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update, but i'm straight up not having a good time right now. my mental health ain't doing so rad, so this is just a filler chapter for you all.

Julian Markov’s blank eyes stared down at Kent in the darkened incident room. His steps were slow as he took in the eyes red from trauma and the water darkened locks. Kent might not have been looking in a mirror, but it was pretty damn close. Buchan appeared from around the corner, surprised at the sight of Kent stood now stock-still by Mansell’s desk. A relieved smile wormed it’s way on to the archivist’s face, and as he flittered past Kent to where his box of files still lay on the other male D.C.’s desk, he said: ‘Good to see you’re in one piece.’

‘I’ve been through worse.’ Kent shrugged his shoulders, sparing a glance around the room. ‘Has Mr Cardillo been brought in yet?’ Buchan, pushing his glasses up his nose and rooting through his file box, nodded.

‘He’s in the witness room at the moment—’ Before Kent could ask, Buchan answered his unspoken question. ‘—Don’t worry, there’s uniforms stationed outside the room for his protection after tonight’s incident.’

‘Could be worse, I suppose.’

‘Not just for you.’ Buchan said, limply waving to the projector screen which remained lit with the final moment of Julian Markov’s life. Kent swallowed as he looked at it, the unease never truly leaving the pit of his stomach. The young man moved to stand in front of Buchan, burying his hands in the depths of his trouser pockets.

‘Who’s that?’ Kent rocked back on his heels. Buchan peered over his shoulder.

‘A victim in York.’

Intrigued, and slightly confused, Kent asked, ‘York? What’s the relevance to our case?’

‘He was one of three bodies found across different C.A.R.D. locations.’ Buchan explained. Kent’s forehead creased as he thought – where had he heard that name before? Graham Martin’s name flashed in his mind and Kent’s eyes widened in realisation.

‘Mr Cardillo’s company?’

Buchan nodded his affirmation.

‘And you said he was one of three?’

Eyes shining like they always did when it came to the histories and stories that lay a few stairwells beneath their feet, Buchan picked up the remote where it had been abandoned the moment Kent’s phone call had come through. Kent quickly learned the names and faces of the two other victims whose corpses had tainted Angel Cardillo’s prestigious company. He also learned that the queasy feeling in his stomach didn’t settle at the sight of the similar features each victim shared.

‘Looks like the killer had a type,’ Kent commented, though it was mainly to himself. Raising his voice, Kent turned to Buchan. ‘What about this Dominic Reid? Do we have a picture for him?’ Buchan shook his head, suddenly despondent.

‘Nothing as of yet, but I’m still trawling through my files.’ Kent smiled softly and shook his head fondly. Buchan pulled his glasses from his face and let them rest gently against his chest.

‘You really need to get a system down there, Ed.’

‘I do have a system, D.C. Kent!’ Said man bit his lip to stop a laugh from slipping out at Buchan’s affronted look and tone. ‘You may not understand it, but there is an order to my chaos, no matter what Joe says.’ At the mention of the D.I.’s name, Kent’s smile slipped from his face. He quickly averted his gaze behind him so that Buchan did not see. Focused on the hallway that led to the witness room.

‘I’m sure there is,’ Kent murmured. ‘I’m going to go talk to Mr Cardillo, now, unless you need my help with something?’ He was released with a wave of the hand from Buchan, so Kent made quick work of walking down the empty hallway and greeted the uniform outside the door with a curt nod before he darted inside, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding at the sight of Angel stood alive and well, gazing out of the window. The entrepreneur turned at the _click_ of the door sliding into place.

Still in the shirt and dress trousers he had been in at the hotel, Angel looked rumpled and worn, with grazes from the glass and a bruise marring his skin, though the warm smile that graced his face the moment Kent stepped into the room was a stark contrast.

‘Emerson.’ Angel seemed to breath out. ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’

‘Likewise, Mr Cardillo,’ responded Kent, who took the liberty of standing next to Angel by the window. ‘Are you doing all right?’

‘As best as I can be.’ He paused. ‘Have you any idea who did this?’

Kent shook his head. ‘None at the moment, but SOCO’s combing through the hotel room as we speak, and my team will uncover something eventually.’ It wasn’t much, but the notion that the Whitechapel team were working tirelessly made Angel that little bit better.

‘I still don’t know _why_. Why someone would want me dead, I mean…’ Angel trailed off, his gaze once again belonging to the street down below. Kent, on the other hand, had Julian Markov’s, Maya Fairway’s, and Daniel Shaw’s void stares burned into his mind alongside the lively grey that was Angel Cardillo. Biting his lip, debating with himself, Kent took a couple of steps back to regard the entrepreneur.

‘I might.’

Kent’s admission lingered in the air. He was really doing this – he couldn’t take back anything that was said, anything that was accused… _Is this what Chandler felt like about Morgan Lamb?_ Pushing that thought to the furthest corner of his mind, Kent straightened his shoulders and held Angel’s gaze, refusing to cower away.

‘Daniel Shaw. Maya Fairway. Julian Markov,’ listed off Kent. ‘Do they ring a bell?’

Angel’s eyes grew dark with something that made Kent shiver and involuntarily take a minute step back. Unbeknownst to the Detective Constable, Angel noted this minor movement and did his best to cover up any ill wishes that burned in his blood at the three names that rolled off of Kent’s tongue.

‘Of course they do.’ Angel replied eventually. ‘They were workers of mine who were found murdered in three of my business locations. I was a suspect.’

‘Yeah, so what about grievous family members? Friends?’ At the unknowing glaze that coated Angel’s face, Kent felt the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Do you think that maybe one of the victims might have someone who blames you for the deaths?’

Comprehension dawned and Angel looked shocked. ‘But why would they blame me? I didn’t do anything!’

‘The killer was never caught, and you went on to continue manning one of the largest companies in the UK. A company that was home to three separate murders. I think that’s enough to make some angry enough to kill.’

‘These murders are how old? Why would someone care about them now?’ There was nothing about Angel’s tone that made Kent feel comfortable.

The small smile that was evident didn’t help either.


	8. apocalypsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Developments are unfolding as the case draws a high, but what does in leave in store for the detectives investigating?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact for you all: i spent a good five minutes staring at myself in the mirror contemplating everything i've ever thought about myself and my identity before walking away and coming to finish this chapter. i think it's all right. 
> 
> i included an opening scene of OCD here, and tried to make it as close to how it is portrayed in the show as possible. granted, it is short but only because while my research has led me to a small understanding of the disorder, i have never truly experienced it so i do not know how one would feel in the situation. if you feel that something could be changed or the portrayal isn't quite accurate, please feel free to leave a comment correcting me and i'll gladly do my best to make the portrayal as realistic as possible.
> 
> sidenote: i was rewatching whitechapel and have a question.
> 
> is it "Jo" or "Joe”? Because i would assume that it is "Joe" based on the diminutive of the name "Joseph", yet Netflix's subtitles refer to him as "Jo", and i don't know who to trust, especially when the Whitechapel wiki refers to "Emerson" with two 'Ms' yet the cast list only uses one. i only use one M because that is my name - "Emerson" - and i think it looks a lot nicer than two 'Ms', and using two 'Ms' makes me uncomfortable lol. okay, i'm rambling. if anyone knows, please could you tell me? thanks!
> 
> thank you everyone for you patience, and enjoy :) x

_…34…35…36…37…_

Chandler’s lips mouthed the numbers as he counted them silently, fingers quickly flicking the different coloured pins to their respective piles. He felt like his mind was tearing him in two directions, between finishing the assortment of pins that he had hastily tipped from his pot the moment he, Miles, Riley, and Mansell had returned from the hotel, or simultaneously pulling him back to the words that Kent had spit out in seeming disgust.

_‘You’re making it very evident that you still don’t trust me!’_

The D.I. felt like he had developed a habit of speaking before he spoke, taking leaps of faiths that he would not necessarily usually take. He wasn’t sure whether he was shifting the blame, or it was very fair to say that the blame should be laid at Kent’s feet. Was it a bad thing, that Kent had forced him out of what he deemed comfortable?

_…38…39…40…41…_

Chandler felt his eyes being pulled in separate directions, too: flicking between the ever growing piles of red, yellow, blue, and green, all the while periodically flicking over to the desk closest to his office, where the curly-haired D.C. was hunched over papers or peering at his screen.

It was true that being pushed from your comfort zone was something good, useful even, as Chandler had been told by the sporadic therapists he had seen over the course of his life. He still saw one on occasion, but he couldn’t truly remember the last time that he had actually set foot into the therapist’s office. But there was a difference, Chandler noted, between stepping from your comfort zone and being downright rude.

It seemed that Chandler had blurred the two.

 _…42…43…44—_ 43 _._

There were forty-three pins.

In order to even them out, Chandler restarted his counts of each colour, ultimately waiting to see which pile he would remove a pin from. Totally engrossed and trapped in his own mind, Chandler neglected the piled sheets of paper that would carry forth the events of the investigation, and instead resolved himself to a wandering gaze between the metallic pins and Detective Constable outside.

»»————- ————-««

Kent ignored Chandler’s stare from where the older man was seated inside his office (and his heart ached at the seeming pain and regret that flashed in the blue, but Kent couldn’t deny the anger at the D.I. that still seared under his skin) as he moved back into the main incident room; it seemed that the team had returned, updating their boards and notes with the happenings of Apex Court Temple Hotel. Buchan’s files, projector, and screen had been packed up and moved, and the archivist was no where to be seen.

The young D.C. wasn’t sure why he was so jittery – something about his talk with Angel left him unnerved (it was also in that moment did Kent realise he hadn’t even attempted to get a statement from Mr Cardillo, but now wasn’t the time to reveal that to Chandler or any of the team). The three separate cases that spanned the country weighed heavily on his shoulders. No matter what he tried, from re-reading case notes to accepting Mansell’s childish jibes, Kent found his thoughts trailing back to the three faces of the workers who had yet to receive justice. Deciding he needed a break from the mountains of information laid in front of him, Kent rose from his seat and exited the room, ignoring the eyes that trailed after him.

He let his feet carry him down to the darkened depths of the station’s archives – couldn’t the higher ups approve of some light and electricity funding for down there? – his mind still preoccupied with the events of the last twenty-four hours. God, everything was a blur: what had happened, where they were up to in the case, the time even. Something inside Kent had just become fixated on the three names that the Whitechapel team had been given from Newcastle, Leeds, and York, and now it seemed he couldn’t let them go.

It was possible, Kent thought, that the theory he had suggested to Angel was the reason for someone attacking him, holding him responsible for the death of their loved one. Angel had claimed innocence like most people would, but there was something about the way he spoke, the way he had looked at Emerson that left the young man… unsettled.

That wasn’t to say that Angel was lying, but did it mean that there was more to the story than the entrepreneur was letting on?

Either way, the questions demanded answers, so when Kent reached the archives, he began his search for Buchan within the hordes of boxes and tables that littered the basement level of Whitechapel’s police station.

‘Ed?’ Kent called out, though he could never be sure if the archivist could ever hear him amongst the clatter that was NOT organised in any way, no matter what Buchan argued. Glancing around at the piles that reached his head, Kent struggled to believe that Buchan had any system in operation but didn’t bother to dwell on it was he wandered through the historical maze. ‘Ed?’ Kent called again, rounding the corner to find Buchan sifting through papers at a table.

‘Ah, D.C. Kent!’ Buchan called. ‘Is everyone clocking off?’

‘We’ve still got a couple hours left on shift,’ Kent replied with a smile, ‘so that’s not why I’m down here.’

‘What is the reason for your visit, then?’

‘Dominic Reid. The three bodies found at C.A.R.D. locations. The fact that their deaths are unsolved. Something’s not sitting right with me, and I can’t focus. Could I work my way through some of your files, see if anything sticks out?’

Gesturing widely like a ringmaster might at a circus, Buchan spread his arms towards the boxes around him and said, ‘My world is your oyster.’ Kent cast him a smiled thanks as he squeezed past Buchan to the box labelled _Newcastle_.

»»————- ————-««

‘Hey, um, Boss?’ Mansell called for D.S. Miles after he had replaced the phone to the receiver. The team were continuing their investigation into what had happened at the hotel, with Mansell taking the initiative to contact the opposing hotel across the street where they had discovered the shots had come from. He had spoken to a young woman over the phone who was working on the reception of the hotel. She was in the process of emailing over an image from the CCTV footage of the man who checked into the establishment twenty minutes before the attack had occurred, and no one had seen since.

‘What is it?’ Miles asked, scooting over to stand in front of the D.C.’s chair. Watching as the email entered his inbox, Mansell clicked his mouse three times and pulled up the image of a man in his mid-forties, although the receding hairline and frameless glasses would have moved anyone’s guess up into the late-fifties to early-sixties.

‘This is who checked into the room that the shots were fired from,’ Mansell said. ‘He checked in under the name Dominic Reid. More than that, he used the hotel’s phone to make a call to a number, and it’s someone we’ve spoken to before.’

»»————- ————-««

Chandler and Miles waltzed into the interview room, airs of authority surrounding them, while Riley and Mansell positioned themselves behind the glass. Sarah Collins was sat in the chair, legs crossed and postured unbothered as she regarded the detectives before her.

‘It seems that some more information has come to light since we last spoke, Miss Collins.’

Chandler’s composure was calm and collected, and while Sarah Collins appeared that way too, the detectives could clearly see the nervous taps of her fingers on her legs and the way her eyes flicked about the room.

‘Like the fact that your father is gravely ill and needed £25,000 for an experimental treatment in Switzerland.’ Miles continued Chandler’s sentence as he took a seat across from the scientist. Mansell grinned to himself, proud that he had discovered that information after looking into the connection between the elusive Dominic Reid and the intelligent Sarah Collins.

‘So, you’ve called me down here to rub my father’s condition in my face?’ Sarah tried, but her voice wavered despite her efforts. Chandler simply raised an eyebrow and slipped a sheet of paper over to Sarah so that she could read it.

‘I’ve called you down here because your father suddenly had £25,000 in his bank account, and your lab was suddenly down a vial of saxitoxin.’ Another piece of paper was slid across the table. ‘And this is a record of all the calls between you and one Dominic Reid.’

‘A contract killer.’ Miles stated bluntly. Sarah’s eyes widened in genuine shock.

‘What?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘What? No, please. I-I didn’t know he was going to hurt anyone! When he contacted me with the offer, he told me that he was part of a rival lab who wanted the patent before Angel. Look… I was so mad at Angel, and I needed the money. I knew I shouldn’t have done it…’

‘Do you have a photo of this Dominic Reid? Could you describe him to a sketch artist? Pick him out of a line-up?’ Miles’ flurry of questions seemed to worry Sarah more. She shook her head vehemently, tears spilling over on to her cheeks.

‘I’ve never met him. We only talked over the phone, and it was him who always contacted me. When it came to getting the payment for the saxitoxin, he told me to set up an offshore account. The next day, the money appeared in the account.’

‘With all this secrecy and avoidance, did it never occur to you that this man’s intentions lay beyond stealing from Angel Cardillo’s company?’

Sarah shook her head once more. She sniffed, swiped at her eyes, let out a shuddered breath before continuing. ‘Like I said, we’d never met, but I did think there was something strange about him.’ She paused, nervous. Miles nodded to encourage her on. ‘I—uh… When my dad received the money, I used some connections in IT to track down where the transfer had originated from. It came from a water works company out in Wales. A company linked to Angel’s – a sub-business or something… All I know is that Angel owns it. In fact, the company was what he and Mr Simmons were supposed to be discussing at the dinner the night… the night that Harvey Simmons died. Mr Simmons wanted to visit it. He was adamant about it.’

‘So, you’re saying that whatever is going on involves this water company?’ Sarah’s affirmation was silent. ‘All right.’ Chandler and Miles rose from their chairs in unison, making to leave the room. Sarah’s eyes trailed their movements precariously, a debate on the tip of her tongue.

The scientist licked her lips. ‘There’s more.’

The two senior detectives froze by the door. Riley and Mansell perked up from where they were watching.

‘The transfer had to be authorised. My friend in IT showed me the paperwork. It was signed off by Angel himself.’


	9. janus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This case reaches it's conclusion...
> 
> ...but there are still three unsolved murders looming over Whitechapel's team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, sorry for the long wait, but here is the next chapter!! thank you all so much for your continued support and patience as i write this!
> 
> chapter dedicated to @PettyPumpkin because even though you commented you have no idea who any of these people are, i'm glad you decided to watch the show and become just as invested as i am. i loved getting your reactions, and you shall be receiving my hannibal ones shortly :)

‘I just got off the phone with the industrial industry in Wales where Sarah Collins said Angel Cardillo’s water works company was. It doesn’t exist.’ Riley’s voice cut through Chandler’s meticulous combings over the smartly written notes lining the room. He turned his attention to the blonde woman, who looked conflicted by the news she had received. Mansell and Miles, too, seemed to notice the hesitation in the D.C.’s tones. Pushed away from his desk, Mansell had a dazed look and slack jaw (they’d been at the office for just over twenty-four hours at this stage) as he regarded his peer. With the room’s full attention, Riley continued.

‘The company doesn’t exist.’ Riley reiterated. ‘According to the old CEO, the water works were shut down months ago. There’s nothing but empty factory buildings out there.’

‘But if there’s nothing out there,’ Mansell said after a few moments, gesturing with his pen as he attempted to connect the dots. ‘then what was Angel gonna take Mr Simmons out to see?’

‘This is making no sense.’ was Miles’ contribution. Chandler, who had been silent through the exchange, turned back to the image of Angel Cardillo that had been added to the investigation boards, attempting to hide the small smile that fought its way on to his face at the prospect.

‘What if it’s all a scam?’ Chandler finally spoke. ‘It’s entirely possible that Mr Cardillo’s business is built on lies; so, if Mr Simmons _was_ adamant about seeing this factory in person, wouldn’t that put his entire position in danger?’

He returned his gaze to the three detectives behind him. ‘What better way to get away with murder than to make yourself look like the intended target?’ Chandler didn’t like the way his stomach clenched at Miles’ scathing look, nor the disbelieving snort that followed it. ‘He’s conned all of us; Kent more than anyone.’ Miles did not look impressed, more so by the slight quirk of the corner of Chandler’s mouth. Once he realised what he was doing and that Miles had seen, Chandler coughed and averted his attention back to the picture. ‘Either way, we should bring Mr Cardillo in for a formal questioning.’

‘He’s still here.’ A new voice said. Kent was stood in the door frame, files under his left arm. _How long had he been there, and how much had he heard?_ ‘Uniforms who let Sarah Collins go are taking Mr Cardillo to the interview room now.’ Taking another file from Riley’s outstretched hand – most likely the company she had been looking into – Kent tucked it under with the others once he had taken the time to flip through it. Holding Chandler’s eyes, Kent turned on his heels and then left the room. Chandler look surprised, and only managed to move his feet when Miles jerked his head in the Detective Constable’s direction. Quickly and efficiently, the D.I. strode out of the room after the D.C., strides long until he caught up with the younger man.

‘I’m going to be talking to him,’ Kent said, before adding a ‘sir’ as an afterthought. Chandler’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced at the dark-haired man. The two men paused as they reached the doors that Chandler had left not too long prior.

‘Kent. I really don’t think that—’

‘—That this is appropriate?’ Kent raised a precarious eyebrow. ‘Not to be rude, sir, but I don’t think you’re being very professional either. I don’t know what has gotten into you, or why you’re acting the way you are, but you seem to have a problem with Mr Cardillo. What is it?’ Chandler wasn’t sure he liked Kent throwing his own words back at him, but before the Detective Inspector had the chance to react to the man’s question, he had opened the door and manoeuvred to one of the seats, the door slamming in Chandler’s face behind him. Staring at the door in stunned silence, Chandler felt that he couldn’t move for several moments until he willed his feet to carry him to the next room where he could watch Kent and Angel’s interview play out.

From where he was positioned, Chandler saw Angel leaning against the wall furthest from the door, one arm folded across his chest while the other rested on it so that his hand could rest under his chin. At the sound of the door opening, Angel’s attention had been drawn from whatever he was mulling over to where Kent stood, shoulders and back straight, folder placed carefully on the table (and Chandler longed to straighten it’s edges). The two men were silent for a few moments but, surprisingly, it was Angel who broke it.

‘I’ve had more time to think about what happened at the hotel,’ He began, letting his arms fall to his side as he regarded Kent before him. ‘and I’m still not sure what I should be more disturbed about. The fact that someone literally almost shot my head off, or that you pushed me away when I tried to kiss you.’

Chandler’s stomach flipped.

Kent remained expressionless.

‘Yes. Let’s talk about that—these attempts on your life, I mean. Or shall we start with your water works company out in Wales?’

‘Aquine?’ Angel tilted his head. ‘What about it?’

‘How about the fact that it doesn’t exist?’ Kent moved to the file and pulled it open. Photos were pulled, and Chandler could see an empty warehouse scattered with discarded pieces of rubbish and machinery – even if it _had_ been in operation once, it certainly hadn’t seen human hand for at least half a century. Chandler coughed to stop the glee he felt building, even if there was no one else around to see him.

Angel, who had not yet looked at the photos and instead had kept his watchful gaze flittering across Kent’s face, frowned and took a step forward in hopes of catching Kent’s eye. He failed, but spoke, nonetheless.

‘It exists, Emerson,’ said Angel in disbelief, ‘I have invested a lot of money into it.’

Kent finally met Angel’s gaze and Chandler could see the turmoil swirling in the hazel irises, evident upset and anger simmering under the surface; Chandler realised he hadn’t considered just how hard the notion of Angel being the perpetrator would hit Kent (which had him thinking back to Morgan Lamb once more – and just how many similarities had been occurring over the course of the investigation? – but he pushed any and all thoughts related to Morgan away as the interview continued).

‘You weren’t the only one. Wasn’t Mr Simmons one of your biggest investors? And wasn’t he about to come and see your factory?’ Kent handed over one of the photos. ‘Yet there’s nothing there.’

Moments passed, stunned silence, as Angel stared down at the dark image clutched in his hands. He looked between it and Kent a couple of times.

‘Is this a joke?’ For the first time, Angel’s voice sounded small. The seemingly invincible man appeared frail. ‘This can’t be Aquine. I’ve seen the cash flow reports, the signed contracts!’ Kent swallowed before pulling out a couple sheets filled with names and numbers.

‘You mean these?’ He asked. ‘They’re fraudulent.’

‘How… how is that possible?’

‘How? _You_ signed them.’

Angel laughed humourlessly. ‘I’m given dozens of documents to sign every day.’ Chandler could tell that Kent didn’t seem to believe the entrepreneur, as the younger man raised an eyebrow, presenting his incredulous expression, while Angel placed the photo down to cover his mouth with his hands.

‘It’s your company.’ Kent stated.

‘Yes, it is, but that doesn’t mean that I see the day to day.’ Angel responded, gesturing to the file that lay between them. Kent’s eyebrows furrowed.

‘Then who does?’

»»————- ————-««

‘But what about this Dominic Reid?’ Mansell said, leaning back in his chair and looking at Kent, who had placed himself in front of the whiteboard. The D.C. and the D.I. had moved back to the incident room to relay the information to the rest of their team. ‘If Angel’s saying that this Graham Martin, his…?’

‘Lawyer,’ supplied Riley, who it seemed had been paying attention.

‘Lawyer.’ Mansell snapped his fingers. ‘If Angel’s saying his lawyer is the one running the day to day, and that means he’s the one behind this fake factory in Wales, what’s that got to do with the attempts on his life, or this Dominic Reid character who was seen in the opposite hotel the night of the shooting?’

‘Martin’s embezzled almost a million pounds over the last ten years. A blip on the company’s radar with the minimal amounts he was taking. No evidence as to why, yet.’

‘The court won’t convict.’ Miles argued. ‘Not if we’ve got two possible suspects, one having circumstantial evidence.’

‘It’s not circumstantial though,’ Chandler pointed out. ‘We’ve gotten the paper trail that shows it from Mr Cardillo’s assistant. Our case could be that Graham Martin got in over his head. Maybe someone at the company noticed his purchases – it could have been Mr Simmons or Mr Cardillo – and threatened to report him. So, he either wanted Mr Simmons dead, or he tried to pin it all on Mr Cardillo.’

‘But we’ve got Dominic Reid walking into the hotel, like, twenty minutes before Kent and Angel were almost shot to bits.’ (Chandler really didn’t want that image, his lurching stomach told him). ‘So if this Graham Martin tried to poison one of these businessmen, why did Reid want Angel dead?’ Mansell used his finger to jab at the CCTV still that had remained upon his computer screen. Kent let his eyes roam over it, seeing but not really observing until he properly _looked_. Sure, it was grainy, and sure, the man’s head was turned to the side slightly, but Kent recognised the face immediately. After all, he had seen him quite a few times over the course of _babysitting_ Angel Cardillo.

‘Graham Martin.’

Mansell rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, we get it—’

‘No,’ Kent cut Mansell off, also pointing to the email, ‘ _that’s_ Graham Martin, not Dominic Reid.’

The four other detectives looked to the screen in unison, then back to their teammate, each with doubtful or curious expressions lacing their features.

‘Are you sure?’ Chandler asked without thinking, and somehow that offended Kent as the hazel eyes narrowed in disapproval before he nodded his head.

‘I’ve spent practically a week with him. That’s Graham Martin.’

Riley asked, ‘Why would he change his name?’

‘Why don’t we ask him ourselves?’

»»————- ————-««

‘That… is quite a story detectives,’ Graham Martin replied to Chandler and Miles explaining that he had accidentally murdered Harvey Simmons in his attempt to kill of Angel Cardillo and have the paper trails and money movements paint him as a fraudulent entrepreneur who had been scamming his investors for the better part of a decade.

‘Not a story if it’s true,’ Miles commented nonchalantly. Graham shrugged with the same amount of indifference. ‘Especially if Mr Cardillo was signing the documents without a second glance.’

‘But it all went wrong when you heard that Harvey Simmons was looking to visit Aquine, which would reveal your scam and expose your embezzlement to the rest of the company. It would involve a long prison sentence.’ Chandler jumped in. ‘So, killing Angel Cardillo was the only step you could see.’

Graham laughed, throwing his head back, maniac. It sat uncomfortably in the atmosphere, even for the two senior detectives in the room, and the three Detective Constables gathered in the observation room.

‘You think that I killed Harvey Simmons?’

‘Of course,’ Chandler said. ‘But we know that it was really Mr Cardillo you wanted dead, as we’ve said. To keep yourself apart from this, you forced Alec Whitfield to poison the food, only in the rush of the kitchen he messed up and it resulted in the wrong man dying.’

‘Oops.’ Miles leaned forward.

‘You don’t have any proof.’

‘Don’t be so sure, Mr Martin,’ Chandler said, ‘or should I say, Mr Reid? Isn’t that what you go by now? The bank that you used to transfer the money to Sarah Collins captured an IP address which our tech department managed to trace back to your computer.’

Graham Martin didn’t look so jovial anymore. In fact, he looked like a deer-in-the-headlights. He knew he had been caught.

‘What I’m curious about,’ Miles added, ‘is the gun you used to kill Alec Whitfield. Did you know it was used in a murder fifteen years ago?’

‘Of course I know.’ Graham’s voice was as dark as the night sky, and as angry as all could be. ‘Angel Cardillo used it to kill my brother.’

‘Your brother?’

‘Daniel Shaw. He was my step-brother, but my brother no less. I was hurt and furious when I found out he had been murdered by Angel Cardillo.’

Chandler nor Miles knew how to respond to that.

‘Only you don’t believe he was involved, do you? The Newcastle police didn’t believe that he did anything, and you certainly don’t now!’ Graham shouted, rising from his seat. Chandler held out his hands to placate the man, choosing his words as he spoke carefully.

‘Sit down, Mr Reid, and we’ll discuss this. What makes you think that Mr Cardillo was involved in your brother’s murder?’

‘He and Daniel had an argument the day he died.’

‘Doesn’t make the man a killer.’ Miles held Graham’s wild stare. The lawyer’s breathing was ragged and harsh, with short, sharp breaths passing through his nose and out of his mouth.

‘Many men kill their boyfriends, detective,’ Graham snapped back. That made the two senior detectives curious.

‘Boyfriends?’ Chandler clarified. ‘You mean to say that Angel and Daniel were engaged in a relationship?’

‘Got a problem with that?’

Shifting in his chair, Chandler hoped that the cough used to clear his throat was inaudible, and that his eyes shifting to the one-way glass was imperceptible. ‘No, of course not.’

‘I changed my name to Graham Martin so I could get a job at that stupid company. It started with just gathering evidence. I tried my best to find anything that could prove that Mr Cardillo killed my brother, but it’s clear to see that with the money and power he’s got, he managed to make any evidence there was disappear.’

‘And Daniel’s not the only partner Mr Cardillo’s killed!’ Graham carried on. ‘Those ones in York and Leeds, they were dating Mr Cardillo before he murdered them too!’

‘There has been no indication in the police records that that was the case, Mr Reid,’ Chandler said finally after a minute had passed watching Graham work himself into an agitated state. ‘In fact, this feels as though you’re shifting the blame in order to garner sympathy for your case, which just won’t work, I’m afraid.’

‘Graham Martin, also known as Dominic Reid, I am charging you with the murders of Harvey Simmons and Alec Whitfield.’

‘Go ahead!’ He snarled. ‘Let him get away with it again!’

The detectives let the man spew his violent insults and hurl crude remarks against the walls as they left their respective positions, a weight lifted from their shoulders at catching another killer. One with a beating heart and a deranged aura that they _could_ get off-put by.

‘So,’ Mansell began, bumping his shoulder against Kent’s as the group walked towards the incident room and therefore, the awaiting paperwork. ‘Now that this is all over, are you gonna ask out Mr Angel Cardillo? Erica said you would once the case was over.’

Kent’s disapproving glare was half-hearted at best, but he held back the snarky comment he felt bubbling in his throat. ‘Maybe.’ He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Erica’s incessant need to relay everything to basically his and her partner.

‘You’re not still pining over the boss, are you? Angel Cardillo’s _right there_ and you’re willing to give that up for some D.I. who barely looks at you?’ And sometimes, Kent wished that Mansell had never learned how to talk. Either way, he gave Mansell an answer, though it might not have been the one he was looking for.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Mansell, but when you’ve been in love with someone for almost six years, it’s pretty hard to turn that off and date the nearest celebrity to you.’ Casting a spare look to the D.I., who wasn’t that far away, Kent carried on. ‘That being said, you are right. He’s not ever going to look at or think of me the way I want him to, and Angel Cardillo already is.’

What Kent seemed to forget was that Chandler had functioning ears, and had heard the entirety of his conversation, each word making his heart beat slower and his stomach sink lower. He no longer cared about the mundane things Miles was spouting as his inner voice began to take over.

_What did you expect? For Kent to wait around while you did nothing? Just because he waited six years didn’t mean he’d wait forever for you to make your move, if you ever did! Angel Cardillo’s won, and there’s nothing you can do about it._

He paused, momentarily.

_Yes, there is._

»»————- ————-««

Upon entering the incident room, Kent returned the file to Riley’s desk before he immediately left the room again and returned to the witness room where Angel had been waiting while he had been staying at the station, and the interviews had been underway. Kent had informed Angel that his lawyer had been called in for questioning, and now he had revealed the truth.

‘Graham Martin, really?’ He let out a breath. ‘Incredible how you can know someone for ten years and not really know them… Yet you can know someone for such a brief period of time and feel like you know them so well.’ He said, directing the last part to Kent by angling his body. Angel regarded Kent with a soft, pensive look, much like the one that graced his features mere micro-seconds before their kiss. ‘I guess now it’s all over.’

Kent returned the look with one of his own. He bit his bottom lip nervously before pulling open every bit of bravado he had left in him. ‘It doesn’t all have to be.’ Angel’s wide, answering grin didn’t have Kent’s stomach fluttering the same way Chandler’s did, but it encouraged the butterflies nevertheless, and Kent felt like that was something he needed. Chandler’s momentary glimpses of affection shouldn’t bar him from the possibility of a lifetime of happiness.

‘You know,’ Kent said, ‘all my flatmates are out tonight, and I don’t really have to start on the paperwork until tomorrow. Care for a drink?’

‘Why, Detective Constable, I thought you’d never ask.’

Looping his arm through the younger man’s, Angel guided the two of them out of the witness room, out of the police station, and down the darkened Whitechapel streets.

Chandler watched them go from the window in his office, fists clenched at his sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end. :)
> 
> just kidding!! i've got a couple more chapters planned, finally with chandler x kent content y'all have been waiting for!!


	10. infernum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent and Angel's date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz for the incommunicado recently. i've been staying up north and the service is horrendous lmao. anyway pls don't hate me for this chapter x
> 
> if anyone is interested, i made a Whitechapel As Vines video because i was sad and it made me happy as i made it: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ogjpH_Hm_o
> 
> sorry for any spelling / grammar, i'll revise it again soon.

‘Sorry ‘bout the mess.’ Kent said as he and Angel walked into his cramped, shared flat – and, really, it couldn’t have been much bigger than a postage stamp to the entrepreneur who, Kent had found out in his research of the man at the very beginnings of the case, lived in a very prestigious home along the outskirts of London. The Detective Constable discarded his helmet on the sideboard as the two walked through the front door (Angel had followed in a car of his own) and Kent found himself thanking any deity that was listening that his flatmates were out for the night (Chelsea was working the night shift at paediatrics, while Devin was most likely either at the band’s rehearsal rooms or the recording studio). His next prayer of thanks was because the flat hadn’t been left as an atrocity, and the dishes had been cleaned for once. The only mess that Kent could truly see was an ungodly number of tabloids and celebrity magazines. Kent gestured limply at their shoes and, in unison, the smart dress shoes were untied and placed neatly on the rack.

‘It’s perfectly fine, Emerson.’ Angel’s voice, though soft, sounded loud in the silence of the small space. His fancy, black coat that was much like the Saville Row ones that Chandler invested in, slid gracefully from the entrepreneur’s shoulders; Kent rushed to take it from the older man and carefully place it on the coat hook tucked nicely in the corner by the front door. A brief thought of whether or not smoothing down the shoulders and sleeves was something Chandler did when he returned home (and really, it most likely was) flittered through Kent’s mind before he voluntarily pushed it away. Chandler was no longer at the forefront of the D.C.’s mind, and, for the first time, Kent hoped that Chandler wouldn’t be the thing that kept him awake at night. Especially not with Angel Cardillo stood in his living room, looking lost.

Quickly slipping off his own coat, Kent allowed himself a private smile before he approached the older man, a ‘would you like a drink?’ falling from his lips. Angel didn’t hide his smile and nodded gratefully. Suggesting that Angel make himself at home on the slightly battered green couch in front of the television, Kent darted into the kitchenette and peeked his head through the cabinets in search of _something_ that was worthy enough of presenting to the man waiting out in the living room. There was a bottle of Merlot and a half empty bottle of Prosecco, and a dusty bottle of Malt in the furthest cabinet from the door (all presents collected by the flat’s occupants on separate Christmases from well meaning colleagues). Considering the Merlot was his own, Kent decided that was the only bottle he had to serve and pulled the dark glass from the cabinet with one hand, while the other reached for two glasses on the lower shelf.

He returned with glass in each hand not half a moment later, and found Angel rooting through the stacks of glossy paper atop the worn wood surface. Shifting two coasters to either end, Kent placed both glasses down and then positioned himself at the opposite end of the couch, regarding Angel with a pensive look.

Flicking through a few more pages, Angel returned the magazines in his hands to the tabletop and returned Kent’s gaze. Reaching forward, he grasped the glass in his hand and brought it to his lips, taking a sip, before he then used it to gesture to the hoard atop the table.

‘I take it you don’t live alone?’ Angel asked, and it should have been an innocent question, but Kent noted the way Angel’s hand tightened around the glass. The D.C. was happy to note that his eyebrows didn’t furrow as he saw skin turn white, and instead took a sip of his own drink before answering.

‘Nah,’ said Kent, ‘I’ve got flatmates – Chelsea and Devin – but they’re not here tonight. Thankfully.’ He snorted into his glass. ‘I’d hate to see how they’d react when they saw it was _you_ I brought home.’

Angel tilted his head, curious. ‘It sounds like there’s two reasonings behind that statement, Emerson.’ The man in question shrugged and placed his drink back on to his coaster, subconsciously shifting the mat so that the edges were parallel, something that he had always done whenever he took a drink to Chandler’s desk…

No.

Tonight was not about him. And neither were any of the following nights. Chandler had made it clear where they stood, and Kent was sick and tired of it all. Chelsea and Devin probably were, too. There was more than one occasion where the two girls wanted to hunt down the D.C.’s superior and give him a piece of their minds. Kent always placated them with chocolates and magazines and promises that he was over it.

He never was.

Until now.

‘Well…’ Kent decided to omit one of the answers he was to give. He pointed at the magazines. ‘As you can see, they’re _very_ interested in the life of the celebrity. I’m sure you’ve been a fixation of one of them for a few months at least. They could probably tell you things about yourself that you weren’t even aware of.’

A deep laugh erupted from the entrepreneur’s throat. ‘And here I thought they were yours.’

Kent shrugged, passing a teasing grin over the rim of the glass. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.” He took a sip. “I don’t leave mine laying around.” The young man looked over his shoulder to where the door to his room sat a few feet away in the corridor, the white paint tarnished with resistant _Blu Tack_ from where old band posters had once covered the door. Emerson, Chelsea, and Devin had been in the flat since their second years of university and, god, they would _all_ like to move out eventually, toward an independent life or one with their life partners, but alas none of the three were ever in the position to move out. Devin had once found a house for herself not too far from the original flat, but that had been sometime around the Krays’ case, and after picking up Kent from the hospital alongside Chelsea, seeing the young, fresh-faced D.C. looking sunken and quiet and _so darn scared_ that the two girls had silently vowed to themselves that they, somewhere deep down, didn’t want to leave, not until they knew Kent was in safe hands and had someone’s arms to come home to when the cases got too tough, or the night terrors of Whitechapel finally caught up with him and he was found on the kitchen floor at three in the morning surrounded by takeaway leftovers and half-full mugs of tea.

Chelsea and Devin had only found Kent like that a handful of times, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Angel caught Kent’s gaze and followed it to the closed door. A smirk suddenly appeared, and Angel asked, ‘They hidden away in your room?’ Angel’s voice snapped Kent from falling into his thoughts and back to the small space in the living room. Kent flashed a hesitant smile before quickly returning the alcoholic beverage to the table. Maybe it was getting to him quicker than he’d like.

Seconds or minutes passed in a comfortable quiet, the two men just enjoying the company of the other without needing to pressure a conversation, but something seemed to be weighing on Angel’s mind, if the way he tapped his foot against the hard wood flooring or tapped his crossed legs with three slender fingers was anything for Kent’s inner detective to pick up on.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Kent prompted, angling his body to the entrepreneur, who jolted and uncrossed his legs. He looked sheepish, like he had been caught doing something that he shouldn’t, but mirrored Kent’s positioning anyway.

‘Thinking of other men is never anything promising,’ Angel began, and Kent raised an eyebrow, ‘especially when in the company of a man like you, Emerson. But I cannot help my thoughts straying to your boss.’

‘Chandler?’ Kent couldn’t hold back the incredulous tones that graced the name. ‘What about him?’

Staring into the bottom of his glass, eyes adverted, Angel said, ‘I’m just surprised you asked me for a drink, that’s all.’ At Kent’s dubious expression, the older man continued, ‘You pushed me away when I kissed you, Emerson. That suggests to me that you are not interested—’ Kent opened his mouth, but Angel stopped him with a knowing smile and a met gaze. ‘—No, no, Emerson, I completely understand. It’s hard to get over someone you’ve been in love with for years.’

Kent should have asked how he knew. But the understanding tones that he heard drew his mind in a different direction. ‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’

‘Once.’ Angel said. ‘Second year of college. Her name was Harriet. I thought she was the one.’ He twirled the glass in his hand before placing it to the side. ‘She didn’t think the same. Left me before we finished our exams.’ Angel shrugged, as if he could shrug the memory from his head. ‘Didn’t get over her until Daniel died.’

‘Were you close?’ blurted out Kent. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have—’

‘No, no. Please, don’t apologise Emerson. You’re inquisitive, a detective. I’ve said it before. It’s what I like about you.’ Angel squared his shoulders. ‘If you truly want to know: yes, we were close. In fact, I used to date Daniel.’

Kent swallowed, uncomfortable. ‘Oh my god…’ He whispered. Angel smiled sadly.

‘He used to get angry that I’d work long hours, barely coming home. In fact, we had an argument about that the day he died. It seems so inconsequential now, and there is nothing I can do. I just keep moving forward in hopes that one day Daniel may be able to forgive me.’ Kent wasn’t sure whether or not he should reach a hand across and squeeze Angel’s that rested against the cushion of the couch. He didn’t, and the moment passed.

‘But going back to my trailing thoughts, Emerson, and I don’t mean to pry, but I truly must know, if – and only if I’m not overthinking this – this was to go any further: do you think you’re ready to be moving on from D.I. Chandler?’

Kent opened his mouth again, only to be stopped by Angel again. ‘I want you to be honest, Emerson. I’m here as a whim decision you’ve made, I know I am, but if you feel that this could go further, or we should end it now, I would prefer it if you were open and honest with me in this moment.’

Angel’s words hit Kent like a truck. Was he ready? He had claimed to Mansell he was in – what Angel had called – a whim at the end of the case when tensions were coming down from a high and his emotions were all over the place. He longed – _oh, how he longed_ – for Chandler to spare a look at him the way Angel had looked at Kent since he met him, but the more time spent with Angel made Kent realise that Chandler never would.

But that didn’t mean Kent was over him.

That didn’t mean that Kent was over the way Chandler poured himself over every case they were given. That didn’t mean Kent was over Chandler’s determinism and stoicism. That didn’t mean Kent was over Chandler’s humanity, the way the D.I. was as human as the rest of them, hit hard by the horrors that weighed down on Whitechapel’s team each time they set foot in the station. That didn’t mean Kent was over the ‘good job!’s or ‘well done!’s that had his breath catching in his throat, the smile he couldn’t stop forming on his face, turning his attention to the floor. He wasn’t over the soft smiles that graced the Inspector’s face, either when a clue fell into place or when Kent saw Chandler feeling alive again for the first time in who knows how long, when Miles’ daughter was held so gently in his arms and the corners of his mouth tugged so wide that Kent couldn’t stop his own from doing the same.

No.

Kent wasn’t over him.

He wasn’t sure he ever would be.

The silence that had befallen the two men was comprehended by Angel immediately, and his melancholy smile was followed by the whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’ Kent felt his eyebrows crease in confusion, though it melted slightly as Angel gathered together their glasses and rose from the couch. Kent watched his movements.

‘I understand, Emerson.’ Angel admitted. ‘Sometimes, I cannot compete. How about we treat this as a drink between friends?’ Kent nodded, and Angel gestured with the glasses to show that he was only going to fill them up. Turning his head forwards, Kent let out a shuddering breath. He was happy that Angel understood, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty, though he wasn’t sure why.

He also wasn’t sure why he felt uneasy.

Until the rough material of a kitchen towel worked its way around his throat and pulled taut, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Choking, Kent clawed at his throat, unable to sink his fingers in the dark blue fabric and tug it away from his neck. His legs kicked out and pain shot through his ankles as they collided with the edge of the wooden coffee table. Unable to even stand up properly, let alone get a breath in, Kent was in too an awkward position to fight against the violent pull against his throat. Clashes and bangs resounded in his head as the coffee table clattered to the floor, dark clouds blinded Kent, and only one thought whirred through his otherwise blank mind.

_He was going to die._


	11. termino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for... Chandler and Kent admit their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowie, only got another chapter or so to go! thank you so much to everyone who has supported this story! 
> 
> just in case anyone is interested, i have just uploaded a chandler x kent one shot and i have a season 5 whitechapel fic in the works, amongst other plot lines and little fics i have ideas for, so if you've enjoyed this story, please check out my one shot and keep an eye out for my future stories!
> 
> i would also just like to point out that i am still in school, currently headed into year 13, so i have a lot on my plate so i do apologise for the sporadic updates, but that doesn't mean i have ditched this! (unlike my flash fic but i was never whole-heartedly invested in that show like i am with whitechapel)

He blinked awake on the laminate wood flooring of his flat, the skin of his throat a vibrant, harsh red and throbbing agonisingly. Blurred and slight, Kent’s vision was distorted. The couch was no longer standing, that much Kent could see: it appeared that during the struggle Kent’s body had tilted the back of the couch so far back that it collided with the floor. Magazines and ripped pages scattered the floor, the coffee table entirely flipped on to his face. The young man’s mind was a haze and he almost failed to remember what had happened. His left arm was bent so the hand was next to his head, his body twisted so that while his right arm was splayed outwards, his torso and legs faced his left arm. Lulling his head in the direction of his left hand, Kent squinted and gave silent thanks to Morgan Lamb. He’d feigned death.

Hums, light and jovial, followed by the running of a tap in the kitchen, had Kent thinking for the briefest of moments either Chelsea or Devin were home, washing the dishes, but when his muddled mind caught up with the events of the evening.

Angel Cardillo had tried to kill him.

 _Angel Cardillo had tried to kill him_.

Angel Cardillo had tried to kill him, and he was in Kent’s kitchen humming away like nothing had happened. He closed his eyes, the realisation sinking in horribly.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

Craning his head, Kent shallowed his breathing and waited with bated breath as the tap stopped. The humming continued, and the sharp sound of dress shoes hitting the laminate (Angel must be getting ready to leave, Kent thought) reverberated in Kent’s mind, so much so, he thought the older man was in the room. It wasn’t until the shiny patent leather of the shoes filled his eyeline did Kent know he was right.

Fear coursed through his body as Angel crouched down, his tanned hand reaching forward to brush curls away from Kent’s forehead, And the D.C. only just managed to stop the scrunch of his nose or the hitch in his throat as the hand moved from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. Pounding harshly in his rib cage, Kent was certain that the man leant over him could hear his heart beating like crazy. Kent cringed in on himself as Angel’s breath brushed across his face as the man moved downwards to press a kiss to Kent’s forehead. It was harsher than the one the two had shared at the hotel, and Kent wanted nothing more than to violently shove the man away.

After a few uncomfortable moments, Angel pulled away and repeated the movements of brushing Kent’s hair away and gently stroking his cheek. Finally – and Kent had never felt more relieved – Angel pulled away.

‘I’m sorry.’ Angel’s pitiful, soft voice made Kent jump, and then made him angry. With a final brush through his hair, Angel raised himself to his feet and adjusted his suit jacket, tightened his tie like he was about to enter a board meeting, and Kent, who cracked his eyes open ever so slightly, watched the blurry, dark figure of Angel Cardillo move carefully through the flat to the front door, slipping out of it silently, the inaudible click of the latch making it so that Angel had never been there at all.

»»————- ————-««

Chandler was breaking the speed limit.

He had planned on waiting another hour or so, to be extremely certain that Angel Cardillo had left, and that Kent had returned home. If he returned home, Chandler had thought, as he wasn’t sure where Kent and Angel had actually gone for their drink.

He was breaking the speed limit, a testament to the fear that swelled through him. Miles was silent in the seat next to him, the Sergeant’s focus on the darkened streets of Whitechapel as he leaned on his elbow. Riley and Mansell followed in a car behind.

They had stayed later, the two D.C.’s, to cover for the third while he went on his date, and were in the process of tidying the incident room. Buchan had been there, but he was not with them now. The three were only pretending the tidy, really; the ensuing argument between their Sergeant and their Inspector floated out of the office, and it was a much more interesting pastime than sweeping crumbs into a wastepaper basket. With coherent, intermittent words being shouted by Miles, the three members of the team on the other side of the glass knew exactly what the superiors were yelling about.

“… one chance! ...”

“-… know that, I want—”

“… then do something about it…”

“… I am!”

“By sitting on your arse?”

Chandler had planned on waiting, but as the hands on the clock ticked by, with the room outside lacking one less D.C., and Miles’ disgruntled expression, he rose from his seat to exit the office and very pointedly ignore the stares that his Detective Constables were casting his way. It was now or never, he supposed, and after what happened with Morgan Lamb, Chandler didn’t want to add Emerson Kent to his list of failures.

He didn’t want to regret the man.

Chandler moved across the space with the air of authority he had held when he first moved to the Whitechapel police department, one goal in mind, and nothing would stop him. That was when the uniformed officer had ran into the incident room, seemingly anxious. Miles had followed Chandler out of his office, and the team gathered in the incident room waited as the uniform tried to get his words out in between puffs.

There had been a domestic disturbance call, which in of itself didn’t warrant the reaction of the murder squad – because, after all, they didn’t deal with it until after someone had died, as tragic as it was – but as the uniform rattled off the address, it was Mansell who let out a curse word.

‘What?’ Chandler asked curiously, turning to his subordinate, who had seemingly turned paler than he had been looking mere moments prior. With a glance thrown between the members before him, Mansell said:

‘That’s Kent’s address.’

No one knew which of them had set off their own strings of curses as they gathered their jackets together and took off out of the room much like they had immediately after Kent had called to say that they had been shot at, at Apex Temple Court Hotel. Barely another thought was given to the uniform who had alerted them, and instead the four Detectives raced to their vehicles. Miles had immediately clambered in with Chandler, no question about it, while Mansell offered to take Riley in his own car.

Which was how Chandler found himself breaking the speed limit on the quiet Whitechapel night, headed straight towards Kent’s flat while Miles contacted a SOCO team. Thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds was how long it took for Chandler and the rest to arrive outside of Kent’s apartment building. Reading the intercom list, Chandler couldn’t decide and instead pressed every button until an old lady’s voice crackled through.

‘Hello?’

‘Whitechapel Police. We’re trying to reach an Emerson Kent’s flat—could you buzz us in, please?’

‘Oh, Emerson? He’s a lovely dear… one moment,’ She wobbled and soon enough Chandler heard the metallic noise of the electronic gate unlatching. The four of them darted through the black, rusted metal and up the concrete stairs in record time and approached the red front door. Collective fear kicked in as they discovered it was partially opened, and from within soft murmurings and hushed panicked tones could be heard. Turning to Mansell, Chandler nodded and the D.C. went to hammer a fist on the doorframe, ‘Whitechapel Police’ halfway out of his throat, when the red door swung open to reveal a tear-stained woman in glasses who looked frantic and scared at the same time. She let out a blood curdling scream at the sight of Mansell on her doorstep, jumping in fright. The D.C. in question gently caught the woman by her arms and placated her with hushed ‘Is everything okay?’ and ‘Is anyone in the flat with you?’ before carefully leading her outside when all she could do was nod.

With confirmation that others were inside the flat, Riley, Miles, and Chandler moved slowly inside to find Kent leaning against the white wall of his flat with a woman with dark skin crouched in front of him, her hands skimming over his body but never truly touching. They took in the magazines that scattered the space, the upturned couch, and the coffee table. Kent was lamely battering away the woman’s hand as it moved towards his neck.

‘Whitechapel Police,’ Miles called out, shocking both the woman and Kent (though the latter held a lopsided grin and tried to push himself upwards, only for the woman in front of him to press on his shoulders to push him down to the floor).

‘Skip!’ Kent croaked out, and the woman turned with somewhat relieved eyes. Patting Kent’s arm, she rose from her crouched positioned and crossed the room to stand in front of Miles and the rest. Tear-tracks were drying on her face.

‘You must be Kent’s team, then?’

Chandler, who’s eyes hadn’t trailed from Kent, nodded dumbly and the woman spared them a soft, pained smile. ‘He’s talks about you.’ She sharply turned around to Kent, who had tried to stand up again, and snapped, ‘Sit. Down.’ Holding his hands up in defeat, Kent allowed his body to hit the floor once more as he let out a quiet groan.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve told them not to touch anything,’ Kent said with a slight laugh before it sent him into a coughing fit. The noise snapped Chandler out of his stupor, and he rushed over to the young man, allowing the Detectives behind him to go about their trained business.

‘Are you okay?’ Chandler asked, voice laced with concern, and his arm found purchase on Kent’s upper arm. Kent struggled to stammer out a response, his brain short-circuiting and solely focusing on the warmth bleeding through his shirt’s material and into his skin.

‘Yeah,’ was croaked out. Chandler felt his face soften in relief, and at the end of the day, he chalked his next action down to coming down from the adrenalin of fear that possessed him to raise his hands and bracket the sides of Kent’s face and tilt it forward to gingerly press his lips to Kent’s forehead and hold them there before moving the lower half of his face to Kent’s curls. Kent froze as he took in what his Detective Inspector was doing, but he didn’t complain. He didn’t dare move except to slowly, like one might approach a skittish animal, wind his arms around Chandler’s middle as a silent reminder that he was okay; something that Chandler was grateful for. Having Kent cling to him like a lifeline reinforced to Chandler that _Kent was alive_.

‘Come on,’ Chandler murmured lowly, as he reluctantly pulled himself from his D.C.’s grasp. ‘I’m taking you to a hospital.’

Kent opened his mouth to argue.

‘No.’ Chandler’s voice was firm, taking on the slight lilt of his authoritative voice. Kent smiled lightly as Chandler gently helped him to his feet. ‘No arguments, Kent.’ He held the younger man’s gaze. ‘Please.’

Kent wasn’t sure whether he could trust his voice to not betray him, so he responded with a nod instead, and allowed Chandler to guide him through the mess of the flat, pausing while Chandler relayed a few orders and commands to Miles, who looked at his superior with a wry smile and shooed them out of the apartment. Returning to Kent’s side, Chandler didn’t let go of the man’s arm as the two walked down his apartment building’s stairs, back through the gate and out to where Chandler had parked his vehicle by the curb opposite.

Much like in a Jane Austen novel (thank Miles for the comparison), Chandler ushered Kent in the passenger seat after he held the door open before moving around to the driver’s seat. Neither of them say anything during the drive, and Chandler finds he is not bothered by it, for his mind is a swirling mess of emotion and stress that he wasn’t sure what he could say. It wasn’t until Chandler pulled to a stop in the hospital car park and killed the engine that either of them said anything. Kent was looking out the window, and in the pale light of the car park, Chandler could see the tears glistening in Kent’s eyes.

‘Kent?’ Chandler leaned across the gearstick to catch the attention of the younger man. Kent jumped at the sudden break in tension and quickly wiped away any stray tears. Plastering on a smile that he was sure the D.I. wanted to see. It slipped at the unimpressed look spreading across Chandler’s face. Pursing his lips, Kent sighed.

‘I thought he liked me, you know,’ Kent said eventually, purposefully avoiding eye-contact with the man in the seat next to him. ‘I thought someone actually liked me for once.’ Chandler wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. ‘I’m going to say something, si—Joe; something you might not want to hear, but I can’t fucking live with it anymore.’ With a shuddering breath, Kent let everything he had held inside for the last five, practically six, years. ‘I’m bloody in love with you. I have been since you and your stupid suits waltzed into Whitechapel all those years ago. And at first, yeah, it was probably hero-worship but over time it became so much more than that. I have been by your side and I have seen the worst – or what you claim – to be the worst parts of you, and I have seen nothing that I don’t like, Joe.

‘I was so jealous of Morgan Lamb, god, it infuriated me, but with the way it ended and the way you treated me afterwards I thought it would all disappear, thought I wouldn’t have to ever tell you this, but it hasn’t. The amount of transfer forms I’ve filled out in my head, plausible reasons for needing to, but each fucking morning I came in and saw you in your office, I knew I couldn’t. And maybe these feelings will never go away, but I’ve been professional enough, haven’t I? I can keep things the way they have been, Sir, but I can’t hold on to this anymore—’ Kent choked on a sob, tears streamed down his face. ‘—I can’t… I can’t do this…’

‘Why?’ was all Chandler could form. Kent’s sobs were broken by the abrupt question, and he sniffed as he raised his gaze to meet the conflicted older man. ‘Why would…’ If his head was a mess before, it was in chaos now. His heart was close to shattering his ribs with how fast it was hammering and Chandler felt his fingers twitch where they were splayed on his thighs. He had once chance – one proper chance – to say the right thing, and nothing was coming out. He couldn’t find the words that would be enough.

So he didn’t use any.

Kent squeaked in surprise when Chandler leaned in and tenderly pressed his lips to Kent’s, slowly but surely increasing the pressure. While Chandler’s fingers found their way to rest on Kent’s neck, one of Kent’s found purchase on Chandler’s chest while the other wrapped itself around the fabric just below the knot of Chandler’s tie. He drew the older man's bottom lip into his mouth, sucking gently, before he felt Chandler’s immediate reply of running his tongue along the inside of Kent's upper lip, which pulled a rather loud sound of pleasure from the D.C.’s throat. Moments of repetitive actions passed before Kent finally pulled away and licked his lips with a content sigh. Suddenly, his eyes widened in a moment of _oh my God, they had just done that_ , before Chandler washed it away with another few kisses pressed to Kent’s mouth.

‘We need to talk about this, Em,’ Chandler said, but Kent’s mind was still hazy in the aftermath, more so after Chandler’s adoring diminutive of his name, ‘and we will, but right now, I want you to get check out medically.’ At Kent’s conflicted scrunch of eyebrows, Chandler moved a hand off of Kent’s face and squeezed the young man’s hand. ‘I promise we’ll talk about this. I’m just worried.’

With another lick of his lips, Kent nodded and allowed himself to be escorted from the car and through the hospital car park, hand in hand with Chandler, their fingers interlinked.


	12. iustitia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team begin their case against the powerful entrepreneur, in hopes that it's not in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohmygod i'm so sorry for how long i've been gone!! this new school year literally sucks, there's so much work to be doing that when i get home i genuinely feel sick attempting to write. 
> 
> uhhhhhh i did plan for this chapter to be the final chapter but i needed to get something out before i left for so long again - i hate it because it feels like i'm just stretching the story out?? i swear it's not my intentions. anyway, thank you all so much for reading this and leaving kudos/comments, you really have no idea how much it makes my day :) 
> 
> i do apologise if i disappear for a while again, but i do promise that if i do, i haven't abandoned this story. 
> 
> i hope you're all safe and well x
> 
> not beta read, so any mistakes are my own and i will fix them in due course.

Chandler didn’t let go of Kent’s hand until the nurse had asked him to step aside so they could check the younger man over, and even then Chandler didn’t move that far away; instead he stood at Kent’s side, watching carefully to see if Kent would downplay his injuries to leave as quickly as possible – Chandler recalled the D.C.’s actions back when the D.I. had first joined the Whitechapel team, when he had taken the raven-haired man with him to the hospital. Kent had seemed unnerved, almost skittish as they had walked down the corridors, passed rooms filled with patients. He wondered what had happened to instil such wariness of a place that brought security and care, and Chandler thought that maybe one day Kent would tell him, but that one day would have to wait while the nurse finished their examinations, swabbing patches of Kent’s neck and face (Chandler had asked in case of DNA evidence) and left the room momentarily.

Kent was perched on the edge of the hospital bed, the tips of his toes scraping the laminate flooring barely, his legs swinging slightly and the hazel eyes trained on him seemed to brighten as Chandler stepped back into his space and regarded him with a look that Kent wasn’t entirely certain he understood. Kent watched the wide grin slide across Chandler’s face as he loosely took the Detective Constable’s hands back in his own.

‘You’ve told her everything, then?’ Chandler asked in relation to the nurse who was to return at any moment (and Chandler planned on ratting Kent out with anything that he had neglected to mention in the nurse’s preliminary). Kent raised an eyebrow as he looked up.

‘Of course,’ Kent said, and Chandler relaxed minutely. The blond man’s gaze was solely focused on their linked hands, fingers flexing beneath Kent’s own. Gently tugging his hands from Chandler’s, Kent shuffled backwards upon the hospital bed in order to see the older man’s face clearly. Confliction – _and was that stress?_ – about something was evident in the way that the Detective Inspector held himself: his shoulders were squared but his hands couldn’t stop moving, like they wanted to reach for something that wasn’t there. Chandler’s obvious anxiety set off Kent’s own, and the young, raven-haired Detective Constable feared that Chandler was already regretting their newfound intimacy.

There was a loose thread at the end of his right shirt sleeve that Kent’s fingers began to toy with, and in the silence that dragged on, Kent swore he felt his throat burning once more. ‘Do you—’ Kent wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask exactly, but he did know that his voice did sound dreadfully hoarse. ‘What are—Do we need to have that talk now, rather than later?’

‘Am I really that obvious?’

‘Your thoughts are just very loud, sometimes.’

Chandler could hear the insecurity in Kent’s small voice, and he cursed himself inside his mind at being the cause. Taking a step so that he was almost stood between Kent’s legs, Chandler nodded to concede.

‘I think I should start with “It’s not you, it’s me”.’ Chandler winced at how it sounded, even more so when Kent couldn’t hide the crestfallen expression that appeared on his features as he averted his gaze. Raising his hands to cradle the sides of Kent’s head, Chandler tilted the other man’s face so that he could look Kent in the eyes. Without removing his hands, Chandler did his best to string his thoughts into coherent words.

‘I really like you, Emerson,’ Chandler said carefully. ‘Really. But I’m also not denying that only recently have I come to terms with what I’m feeling. To make matters worse, I overheard you and Mansell when the case had ended… I thought I had lost my chance.’

‘Is that what this is?’ Kent couldn’t stop himself. ‘Some weird way for you to get at Ang—Mr Cardillo?’ Even through the young man’s harsh croaks, Chandler could hear the affronted tones. There was a beat. Two. Three. Chandler moved his head down to kiss the man before him. Kent tilted his head to allow him, despite his question. It was soft and sweet, and Kent found himself wanting it to last longer than it did. The man noted that when they separated, Chandler’s eyes remained closed momentarily before they reopened, and Chandler’s hands sought Kent’s once more.

‘No,’ Chandler responded verbally to Kent’s accusation, ‘believe me, it’s not. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to punch him a few times after what he’s done to you.’ Another breath was taken. ‘What I’m trying to say… _do_ —is be honest with you, Em. I’m not the easiest person to be in a relationship with, no matter what Miles says, or what you do at the office for me. It would be completely unfair for me to ask—demand—so much of you in this. I like things a certain way. I’m a very particular man, and it isn’t right for me to pile everything on to you and expect you to just accept it. Even more so when I say that… I may never be able to… you know. I don’t… ever, really, and I’d rather you know now that now before we truly get into anything—’

‘You’re asexual,’ Kent said bluntly, letting it out on a single breath, but it cut the D.I. short, nonetheless. Chandler blinked at Kent’s words, confusion swirling in topaz blue as he held soft hazel warily.

‘I—What?’

‘You’re asexual,’ repeated Kent, who then gave Chandler a comforting squeeze of the hands which seemed to break the stupor the blond-haired man found himself in.

‘Uh, yes,’ Chandler let out a breath of his own. ‘And it’s a lot—’

‘Joe, stop.’ Kent’s voice was firm, but not harsh. Chandler felt his breath slow at the comforting smile Kent was flashing him. ‘It doesn’t bother me. It’s not an issue, either, nor a burden, nor you depriving me of anything… I fell in love with _you_ , Joe. The man you are, not what you can give me.’

Chandler responded by pressing his mouth to Kent’s in a quick succession of kisses, smiling into them at Kent’s admission and at the way he tugged the older man closer with arms wrapped around the blond’s waist. The only reason the two men pulled away was the cough from the nurse who appeared in the doorway. Chandler felt too giddy to care—It was Kent who had the decency to look sheepish.

The nurse relayed that Kent was fine, and all the attack would result in was bruising that the Detective Constable would need to keep his eye on and report any changes to his local GP should the need arise. Agreeing and thanking the nurse, Chandler and Kent walked out of A&E hand-in-hand, back towards Chandler’s car.

»»————- ————-««

It wasn’t until the next morning that Chandler and Kent went to the station. Chandler had offered a night at his flat, but Kent turned him down for the sake of his flatmates – evidently they worried about him, like Kent did them, and after everything that had happened, he thought it best to spend the rest of the night with them to assuage any concerns they had. He’d done the same thing after the Krays.

Chandler had wished him a goodnight instead, and opted to be parked outside of Kent’s flat in the early morning, smiling brightly as the raven-haired man slowly moved from his Vespa and towards the dark car. After putting his helmet in the boot rather than back up the stairs with it, Kent slid into the passenger seat to be met with Chandler leaning over to press their mouths together in “good morning”. A dopey grin was plastered on Kent’s face as the two pulled away, and as he put his seatbelt on, Kent murmured, ‘I could get used to that.’ He was met with a laugh from Chandler as the D.I. turned the car away from the curb and set off toward the station.

‘You sound a bit worse than yesterday,’ Chandler offered as a conversation starter. Kent just snorted and shrugged.

‘I suppose I could be a lot worse, sir,’ Kent said, the honorific slipping from his mouth with ease. Fear clenched at Chandler’s heart at Kent’s nonchalant admittance, his brain supplying images of pale skin and dark hair laid against the glint of polished silver, Llewellyn’s scalpel bloodied and a ‘Y’ incision harshly stitched back together. He felt like a witness in one of their cases, his mind providing all the “what ifs?” and other scenarios that never had a happy. Fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and Chandler didn’t realise that Kent had been talking to him until the light turned red and the car had stopped and the other man had taken the opportunity to place a hand tentatively upon Chandler’s forearm, stealing his attention.

‘Sorry.’ Chandler smiled sheepishly, not wanting to let Kent in on his mind’s worries. ‘I was worlds away. What were you saying?’

‘I was just asking what the plan is when we get to the station?’ Kent repeated. ‘I mean—It’s no secret that it was Mr Cardillo who tried to kill me… but if that means he’s responsible for those other deaths, then doesn’t that mean he got away with murder three times? Attempted murder would just be a walk in the park for him and his lawyers.’

Changing gear as the light returned to green, Chandler let his eyes drifted from Kent back to the road. The station was only a couple minutes away, and Chandler could feel his blood thrumming with the want and desire to bring Mr Angel Cardillo in. There was another part of him, another part that he was ashamed of, wondered if Angel would end up the same way that Whitechapel’s other villains did.

‘We will get him, Emerson,’ Chandler replied eventually. ‘I don’t know when, or how, but we will get him. None of us – Miles, Riley, Ed… even Mansell – want Angel to get away with what he’s done to you—or the others.’

Neither of them spoke before Chandler’s car pulled to a final stop in its usual Whitechapel police station car space. The two detectives exited the vehicle and made it to the others rather quickly. It felt different, somehow, yet also the same, walking into the incident room like nothing in the last twelve hours had occurred. Miles had patted him on the shoulder the moment Kent had stepped through the door, while Riley’s motherly coddling had involved a tight hug and a mug of tea waiting upon his desk. Mansell had given him a rare, genuine, comforting smile before he reached over and ruffled the younger Detective Constable’s hair, which elicited the desired response of ‘get off!’. It was nice, Kent found, that things weren’t drastically different. He was not sure he could handle it if it were. Especially not after the way they had worried over him during the Kray case – the constant looks of fear, like he was going to disappear on them, had only heightened his feelings of anxiety and his heart had never seemed to stop pounding. Thoughts from back then, whenever dredged up, were quickly pushed aside with a glance to the office at the end of the room (Chandler had gone there almost instantly upon arriving, but it didn’t bother Kent. It never had. That was just the way he was).

‘Well, lad, we’re tracking down this Cardillo as we speak,’ Miles broke the slight change in atmosphere. ‘Buchan’s going through his files, seeing if he can find anything of use. I’m not sure what there is, but I think he just wants to help in the way he can.’ Kent nodded, a “thanks” falling from his lips.

‘We will need a statement.’ Riley paused. ‘Again.’ Kent smiled lightly as he leaned against his desk and looked at his team. ‘But SOCO are still running by the things they got from your flat.’

Mansell cut in. ‘But, so far mate, it’s looking good. Cardillo’s fingerprints are scattered about your flat, even though there’s evidence of him attempting to wipe down the surfaces clean.’

‘It’s basically down to finding him, and how good his lawyers are.’ Riley finished and they all looked impressed. Glad. Relieved was a word Kent wanted to use to describe what it looked like the others felt. Kent was, too, but there was more work in store for them, with three shadows looming over Kent. Three names and faces that haunted the after thoughts of his attack, and the admission that had left Angel’s mouth when he thought everything was going his way.

‘I wasn’t his only victim,’ Kent said finally, recatching the attentions of the detectives who had returned to files on their desks or the dimly lit screens of the incident room computers. ‘Daniel. Maya. Julian. I’m sure they were all his victims too.’

Riley and Miles spared each other a sympathetic glance. ‘He’s already gotten away with them before, though,’ stated Riley, ‘and we can’t be certain how personally he knew them. Not when Dominic Reid was in the same area.’

‘Mr Cardillo was in a relationship with the first victim.’

‘How can we be sure that Reid was telling the truth?’

‘Angel told me.’

The detectives in the room seemed to rise a little higher as they took the weight of Kent’s statement to heart. ‘He told you?’ Miles asked.

‘In plain English,’ Kent responded.

Miles nodded thoughtfully. ‘We can work with that.’


End file.
